In the Dark of the Night
by Nitrogen DS
Summary: He didn't know where he was going, or if he'd ever know, he only knew that he was free from the suffocating atmosphere he had been trapped in for years... Old story, Synlet.
1. The Great Escape

**1**

The wind whipped violently, tossing about leaves on the ground. By one of the larger trees in the forest, a man sat on a metal bench, drawing quietly in a notebook, not caring about the oncoming storm. He touched his forehead with his hand, and flinched uneasily as he stared at the smears of dark red blood that had wiped off. He looked up, hearing soft calls coming from a large building to his left.

He closed the notebook and got up without a sound. His eyes narrowed as rain began to splash on him. He sped up his pace as he made his way to shelter. A professional-looking woman with her brunette hair up in a tight bun walked up to him and gently grabbed him by the arm, escorting him into the building. He winced and stumbled awkwardly inside, narrowly avoiding a sudden oncoming downpour.

"Come right this way, I need to have a small talk with you, Terry," she said, her high-heeled shoes making light clicking noises on the linoleum floor.

She held open the door for him as he walked in and sat down on a large, comfortable-looking beige couch. His bright blue eyes were wide, and his face had a deer-in-the-headlights look to it. He twiddled his thumbs and looking from the woman to the ceiling several times.

"They're just regular questions, nothing to be afraid of. You aren't in trouble, you can just relax. I'm not going to hurt you." She said, her voice smooth comforting and smooth, but still holding an air of uptightness. "How are you feeling today?"

"Lonely." He said quietly.

She jotted things down on a the clipboard she held, and moved a wisp of stray hair out of her eyes. "Any thoughts of suicide?"

"No."

"Homicide?"

"No."

"That's good to hear. Having you been hearing or seeing anything -- 'abnormal'?"

"No, ma'am."

"Oh, my. That wound on your forehead has opened up again. Let me see if I can find the nurse. Please stay seated."

As she walked out of the room he leaned back. Truth be told, he wash having strange feelings, and even stranger thoughts. He tilted his head and attempted to look at his reflection in the mirrored metal of a chair. His unruly, bright red hair seemed to look unkempt, and it remained that way no matter what he tried to do with it.

One of the nurses walked briskly into the room, cleaned his forehead with some sort of solution, and wrapped a bandage round his head. She walked back out, and another lady entered, smiling sweetly and holding a canvas bag. He leaned forward to try to get a peek at whatever was inside it. He looked up at her as she sat down.

"Good afternoon, Terry. I'm Dr. Amanda Lee, but you may call me Amanda." She said, pulling her chair up close until she was face-to-face with him. "We're going to play a few games, and check up on your progress."

"I don't want to play anything," he growled. He turned away in a huffy manner, folding his arms across his chest. "I want to leave this place."

"But we're not yet finished with your treatment. It wouldn't be good for you if we just let you leave. Something awful might happen to you again, and that wouldn't be good, would it, Terry?" she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He jerked away and whirled around, his teeth clinched. "You aren't feeling alright, are you?"

"Of course not! I'm locked up here, and I have no freedom. I don't know who I really am, or anything about my past! I just -- I just --" His lower lip trembled, and he turned away from her, hot tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. She stared at him for a moment and then sighed.

"We're not allowed to give you any of that information, Terry. Your past wasn't good, and you shouldn't even think of it, anyway! Look to the future! Once you have completed your treatment, you can live a normal life and --"

"Please, just let me go back to my room." He whimpered, his fists clinched and his entire body trembling. He grabbed his notebook off the floor and clenched it to his chest as if he'd never let go of it. "I want to be alone!"

Her gaze shifted to the notebook he was clutching. "May if I take a look at that, Terry?" she said.

"No. Its mine." He said firmly, tears still running down his pale face. "Take me back to my room!"

She hesitated for a moment before sighing. "Alright. Follow me, then. I was hoping you'd be able to leave soon, but -- you just aren't making positive progress."

"I don't want to be in this psychiatric hospital, I want to be in the outside world," he said, pointing to one of the doors that led to the outdoors. "You keep me locked up, and I hate that."

"You have special needs that need to be treated, Terry. We're here to take care of you, and we're not trying to be mean. You aren't ready to leave, we don't want you to hurt yourself or anyone else."

He narrowed his eyes and whirled around, slamming his tight fist into her abdomen. She doubled over and fell to the ground with a wheezing gasp. She pressed a large button on the pendent she wore round her neck, and several people came rushing down the hallway.

He froze and squeezed his eyes, sweat running down his face and neck. He hadn't meant to hurt the therapist, but he wasn't able to stop himself. Anger had welled up inside of him until he could no longer contain it. He was sick of his frustration, and he was sick of his meaningless life in lockdown. His eyes snapped open as he felt a painful, electric sting on his shoulder.

He yelled in surprise and looked around. There was an exit a few steps away. It was probably locked and he would have to smash through it, but freedom would be worth a few glass cuts. There was no way on Earth he would or could take being trapped any longer. He stepped back and then rammed the door as hard as he could.

He hadn't thought it would shatter on his first try, but it had. He tripped and fell onto the ground, and looked back for a brief moment to see people running after him. He got up dizzily, picked up his notebook, and looked over to the gate. Someone was entering in a large car, and he would have just enough time to rush through it. Alarms were blaring loudly, and they threw him off a bit, but he wildly ran towards his goal.

He squeezed through just in time and ran as fast as he could, driven by fear and insanity. The woods surrounding the hospital would provide cover as night fell. He didn't know where he was going, or if he'd ever know, he only knew that he was free from the suffocating atmosphere he had been trapped in for years.

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_Please be sure to review with any critique or comments. Nitro loves it when she gets reviews, and they make her happy. You don't want to see Nitro when she isn't happy, so review. XD  
_


	2. By Any Other Name

**2**

Violet Parr crumpled a piece of paper and threw it at the wall. She was having no luck wording her report for the NSA correctly. It was a pain to have to do something like that, but they were getting more and more strict about the way things worked. Apparently, detailed reports were required to help avoid lawsuits which would lead to another nationwide banning of superheroes.

She sighed, pushing her chair away from her desk as she stood up. She walked out of her apartment bedroom and into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from a high cabinet and filling it with water from the tap. She leaned against the counter and looked over to her phone. A small button was flashing bright red, signaling that someone had left her a message. She reached over to activate it.

_Hey, Vi? Its me, Dash! I was wondering if you could help me with this really tough paper I have to write for the NSA. I still don't see the purpose of these things! Oh, and mom and dad told me to tell you that they want us to come and have dinner at their house this Friday. Gotta run! Call me back, sis!_

She chuckled lightly and set her water glass down in the sink. Her brother was very close to her, and she enjoyed his company. To her, he was like her best friend. Of course, it hadn't been that way when they were kids, but after a while, they learned to at least tolerate each other. The days of sibling rivalry were now over, for the most part, anyway. She heard a sharp tone behind her and whirled around. Her super-signal had been set off, and the small screen flashed instructions and information. Violet rushed to her bedroom and activated the quick-change mechanism she had received from the NSA Gadget-Corp. Quickly, it slipped her into her perfectly-fitting deep purple suit. She grabbed her gloves and boots out of the closet, and put her mask on carefully. She then rushed out of the secret exit hidden within the closet, so that she wouldn't be seen by anyone.

Violet's custom-painted motor scooter was waiting out in the alley. With a quick flip of a secret switch on the side, it transformed into a super-scooter of sorts, complete with an LED screen below the windshield, displaying all the information on the crime she needed. She pressed her foot down hard on the pedal and sped off into the night. In the distance, she could here explosions happening at exact intervals. She screeched to a halt as her headlights went mysteriously dead. "What in the world?" she asked herself. There was no time to ponder what had happened, however. She leaped off the motor scooter and rushed towards the crime. It was, after all, only a block or two away from where she stood.

Little did Violet know that someone was watching her. He slipped out of the shadows and examined the bike with caution. He glanced in her direction as she slipped of into the night to fight the criminal. He hesitated for a slight moment, and then sat down on top of the scooter, making sure it was first turned off. He flipped open the glove box panel and pulled out a small blanket. He wrapped himself in it and curled up as best as one could while sitting on top of a motor-scooter.

Minutes turned into hours as he waited for her to arrive. Of course, in his mind he was beginning to doubt she would ever come at all. His bright blue eyes in the headlights of a car on the main road. He looked around impatiently and finally saw her walking briskly down the street. He leaped off the scooter and ran up to her. "Hey, hey! You look like a nice girl.." He started.

"Beat it, loser, I'm not looking for a lousy date." She growled in reply, pushing past him in order to get to her scooter. Even in the dim lighting, he could see she was severely wounded. A long, deep gash ran down her right arm, and she staggered awkwardly. He tilted her head, and then rushed forward and grabbed her as she stumbled to the side.

"You're hurt," he said quietly.

She mumbled a soft reply, something he couldn't understand. There wasn't much he could do; the blue medical scrubs he wore had 'psychiatric hospital' written all over them in dark black ink, and he didn't want to be caught and returned to that awful place. His mind raced, and he picked her up and carried her over to the motor scooter. He got up onto it and put her gently on his lap.

As he had been following her ever since she left home, he knew exactly where her home was. It didn't occur to him at the time that she was wearing a flashy costume because of her superheroine job. It was almost impossible for him to think logically and straight. He started the motor scooter and sped towards her house. When they arrived, he once again gently cradled her in his arms and went through the back exit he had seen her use.

He looked around her apartment curiously as he set her down on the couch. He exited the room and found the kitchen. His stomach rumbled terribly, and he saw food in an open cabinet. He paused for a moment, and then grabbed a bag of chips and sat down on a chair, nibbling at them and contemplating his next move. He cocked his head and then got up, looking to see if she had some sort of first aid kit around.

Finally, he found one, and pulled out some bandages and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He walked over to her and carefully cleaned her wounds. He saw her flinch a few times, perhaps at the sting of the cleanser he was using. He removed her mask and set it to the side so he could reach the wounds around her eyes. He carefully wrapped bandages around her arm and head and then smiled, nudging her in attempt to wake her up.

Violet's eyes fluttered open and she looked at him for a moment before pushing herself up and into defensive mode. "What are you doing here?!" she exclaimed, wincing at the pain of her cuts. Her gaze drifted over to her mask which was laying on the coffee table. She trembled with rage and glared at him. "Answer me!"

He looked slightly timid for a moment, but then he sighed. "I was just helping you. You were hurt, and I had to do something." He explained quietly, looking at the floor and shuffling his feet against the carpet. "I couldn't just leave you there."

"You took off my mask! Did you ever stop to think that I maybe wanted my identity to stay _protected_!" she yelled. Her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the floor. He rushed to her and picked her up, once again laying her down in a delicate manner onto the couch, gingerly handling her as though she was a porcelain doll.

Violet narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. He just sat down on the coffee table and looked at her, as he twiddled his thumbs. "You look familiar," she said at last. "Have I seen you before?"

"Probably not. My name is Terry." He said, pointing to himself. "What is yours?"

She hesitated. She didn't know whether to tell him that she was Evanesce or Violet Parr. "You can call me 'Vi'." She said at last. "Do you have a last name?"

He flinched and stared at her. "I don't know."

"What do you mean you 'don't know'? And -- what in the world are you wearing? You look as though you've come straight from a mental hospital!" she exclaimed as she looked him over. "What are you, some sort of psychopathic nutcase?"

His eyes clouded with sadness.

"Oh, wait, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings!" she said softly, reaching out and touching his arm lightly. She noticed tears welling up in his sky-blue eyes. He clutched a little black notebook to his chest and gave a slight pathetic whimper. "I'm not a psychopath." He said flatly.

He picked her mask up off the coffee table and fiddled with it. He put it on his face and examined himself in the mirror. It brought back vague memories, memories of dreams he had had during his psychiatric hospital stay. He turned to her and heard her gasp.

"Syndrome!" she growled.

"Who?" he asked, innocently staring at her and removing the mask from his face, once again setting it down on the table.

"You! Did you think you could get close to me just by rescuing me? How are you still alive? How in the world did you find me?" she barked, yelling interrogative questions at him. He backed into a corner, his eyes wide and his face completely pale.

"What did I do wrong!?" he wailed, looking absolutely terrified. She was approaching him, a force field forming in front of her. She pressed him into the wall with it, and her eyes narrowed as she heard him gasp and yelp.

"You're smothering me! Please, don't hurt me! Please!" he pleaded. "I don't know what you mean at all! I don't know who this Syndrome is, you have the wrong -- augh!"

He gasped for air. He had no idea why the lady he had just saved wanted to asphyxiate him. His body was aching as she pressed him harder against the wall with her force field. He couldn't breath and he began to panic. "Please.."

For some reason, Violet couldn't force herself to kill him. Maybe she had been too hasty, and this man truly wasn't Syndrome. She let go of her force field and rushed up to him, catching him as he collapsed, wincing at the pressure against her wounded arm.

"I'm very sorry, I don't know what came over me!" she told him. "How can I make it up to you?"

"Please, just let me stay here. I have no where else to go." He said as he panted and pushed himself to his feet. "I'll just sleep on your couch or something, I won't be a bother! I won't touch any of your possession without your permission, and I won't even stay long, just until I can find a job and a place to live of my own, please, let me stay!"

Violet was surprised at how desperate he was acting. Syndrome would never resort to begging, as far as she knew, so this man could in no way be Syndrome. After all, Syndrome had died when his plane exploded. Of course, she didn't know if it was proper to have him staying with her, actually. Then again, she could consider him a house guest more than anything else. "Alright, you may stay with me."


	3. Dirty Little Secret

**3**

As weeks passed by, Violet began to doubt the fact that Terry would ever leave. He wasn't actually a problem, really, it was the fact that he _always _wanted to help with _everything _that made her annoyed. He did her laundry for her, and made breakfast long before she even woke up. He cleaned everything up for her and helped her write her reports for NSA.

But he was an all-around confused guy. He had told her of his 'terrible' stay in the 'awful' psychiatric hospital, where everyone was 'mean' to him, and what-not. In fact, he reminded her of it every single time she even thought of trying to send him away. He was in some ways, quite pathetic.

He was also very secretive. He carried around a black notebook and scribbled in it almost all the time. She had made up her mind that she was going to snatch it from him while he was sleeping and find out what was so special that he had to hide it from her. It wouldn't be too hard, seeing as though she could turn invisible at will.

She crept up towards the living room, and saw a lump of blankets on his 'bed' (which was actually the couch), and the sounds of light snoring. It was obvious he was asleep, so she walked in cautiously and carefully grabbed the notebook. She took it back to her room and began to look at it.

Violet gasped as she stared at the detailed pictures he had drawn. However, it wasn't his skills that made her inhale so sharply. It was the fact that within the pages of his notebook, he had detailed illustrations of almost everything that had happened on her Nomanisan Island adventure so long ago. On the latest page was a drawing of him playing a board game of sorts with her and laughing.

She flipped back a few pages to the middle of the thick notebook and found a picture of Syndrome trying to avoid being sucked into the whirring blades of a jet engine. She flipped through the pages, her eyes wide. Her early suspicions had been confirmed: this man was indeed the notorious villain, Syndrome.

Violet felt a firm hand on her shoulder and she jerked away in surprise. She looked up to see Terry, peering down over her shoulder. "Hi, Vi! What are you looking at? Why are you up so late?" he asked her. He paused for a moment. "Is that my notebook?"

She looked into his eyes and saw a hint of betrayal and hurt gleam in them, but he masked it quickly. "Why do you look so frightened, Vi?" he asked, quickly snatching the notebook away from her. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What were those drawings?" she asked, trying to maintain calmness. There could be some logical explanation, but she had yet to think of what it could possibly be.

"Well, I have dreams at night, and when I wake up in the morning, I sketch them. Why do you ask?" he said, tucking the notebook underneath his arm. "They're really all very silly and fantastical, kind of like what you'd find in some sort of an action-adventure movie. But I like drawing them, its like a hobby for me."

Violet didn't know what to say to him. Either he was extremely good at lying, or he truly had no idea of what his background was and where he came from, as he had mentioned a few times before. "You don't know who you are, do you?" she asked him.

He tilted his head in confusion for a second. "I'm Terry?" he said with a sheepish look on his face.

"No, no, I mean, you don't know anything about your past."

"I've told you before, I don't. Something must have happened to cause me to loose every memory I had before going to the psycho-hospital. I remember everything hurting when I first arrived, but they told me it was just because I had had surgery prior to being transferred to their facilities. I don't know why I had needed surgery though. Maybe I was involved in a car accident?" He said, glancing at her in a tired manner. "Is there a problem?"

Violet knew she couldn't just tell him about his past as a supervillain. She didn't want all his memory to come flooding back, and cause him to go about seeking revenge again. "No problem at all, Terry. You're a very talented artist!" she said, stroking his shoulder lightly.

"Thanks!" he said, his eyes lighting up. "I'm going to go back to sleep, okay? Good night."

"Good night --" Violet replied as he left her room. "Syndrome."

-----

Violet had tried to discourage Terry from coming along on missions with her, but he convinced her that it would be good for him to get out of the house and do something. "I'm very bored just sitting around," he had told her. Of course, she had had to give him a disguise, so she made one consisting of a wig and colored contacts, along with a trench coat and a press hat. He looked like a stereotypical news reporter of sorts.

He simply followed her to various crime scenes and watched as she did her work. Even though she was still wary about him after finding out the secrets of his past, she knew that he didn't know them, and that he would probably never find out. He considered himself to be her 'best friend', with no strings attached. There was no way he could gain back the memories of his time as Syndrome. When NSA wipes someone's mind, they make sure to do a thorough job of it.

He insisted upon being the one controlling the motor scooter at all times. Luckily for her she had purchased a double-seat model just in case. He was like a little puppy dog, always willing to 'fetch' things for her, following her around, and even begging to go for walks. In some ways, she was grateful for this behavior. After all, it was better then his former homicidal maniac persona.

They approached the scene of the crime, where a villain was attempting to rob a bank. Terry stood off to the side and watched, sketching things down in a new navy-blue notebook he had purchased for himself the other day at a dollar shop. Once again, Violet seemed to be managing to thwart the plans of the colorfully-costumed criminal, with a little help from 'The Dash'.

Of course, sometimes things aren't what they appear. All of the sudden, the villain had the upper hand, and Terry froze in a petrified manner. The criminal held some sort of advanced type of gun, and was preparing to shoot one of the innocent bystanders. Terry rushed forward and tackled the both of them to the ground. Of course, he wasn't all that strong, and the villain was.

He was sent flying backwards into a building wall from the blow. He had given Violet and Dash the upper hand, of course, they grabbed the villain and turned him over to the police in a hurry. He closed his eyes and fell unconscious. Violet ran over to him and examined his injuries.

She exchanged a few frantic words with one of the paramedics, and they walked over and lifted Terry onto a stretcher. As they walked away, Violet could see the man open his eyes slowly. She stared for a moment more, and noticed there was something different about them. They no longer held their normal bright blue glitter; they were dark and clouded by some sense of raging emotion.


	4. Thanks For The Memories

**4**

It had turned out that Terry hadn't been hurt very badly. He had received a mild concussion and after three weeks in the hospital, they had released him. What worried Violet was the fact that he wasn't acting like his normal self. He would lock himself in the bathroom with various kitchen appliances he had swiped and power tools from the closet.

If he was just trying to get into a new hobby, he would have told her. But once again, he was being completely secretive. He had purchased a white notebook, and would not let anyone so much as get within three feet of it. He no longer wished to go out to crime scenes with her, he actually preferred to have the apartment to himself when she left.

The prospect that he had gained his past memories back haunted her. She was almost scared to leave him alone in her apartment. The last thing she wanted was for him to go back to being the way he was before. It was hard to admit it, but in truth she had grown to love him.

He used to love it when she touched him gently. Now he didn't wish to be touched by anyone, not even in the slightest. He would jerk away and grumble things under his breath, then retreat to his 'hideout' in the bathroom. She didn't want him to be that way. If he kept his current behavior up, she knew she just may have to turn him in.

She heard him working, the noise of drills and scratching of metal keeping her awake at night. Occasionally, he would come out for a snack of some sort, but he was even quite secretive about that. She heard a wild chortle, and the bathroom light turned off. He walked out awkwardly, dark circles under his eyes.

Violet rushed up to him and embraced him delicately. He looked slightly surprised at first, and he twitched with annoyance, but slowly he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a gently squeeze. "Terry --" she started.

"Please, don't call me that. That's not my true name. That's just what they decided to call me at the 'NSA Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminally Insane.'"

Her suspicions had been confirmed. He hadn't known the full name of the psychiatric hospital he had stayed at prior to the blow he received to his head. "What do you want me to call you?" she asked. She hoped he wouldn't say 'Syndrome'.

"Buddy." He said with a smile. "That's my real name. Yes, I finally remember everything about my past. But don't worry, sweetheart. I've learned my lesson, and I'll never be go back to being that way again." His expression then turned serious. "You won't bring me back to that awful place, will you?"

"I wouldn't! Buddy, I couldn't! -- We're friends, remember? I won't tell anyone about your secrets, just like you haven't told anyone about my secrets." Violet said, tenderly stroking his cheek with her hand. She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't attempt to move away from her touch.

Buddy tightened his embrace, holding her head tight to his chest. She wrapped her finger around a lock of his thick, shaggy red hair. To her surprise, she felt a sense of static electricity upon doing so. He didn't seem to notice, he was lost in his own thoughts, holding her tightly.

"Wait!" she exclaimed. _Why am I doing this? He murdered dozens of innocent people, he tried to kill my family and kidnap my little brother! In fact, I'll be he's even lying about reforming. His suspicious behavior means he's up to something! What am I going to do? I have to bring him to the NSA, that's the only thing I can do…_

"Wait, what?" he said, looking extremely hurt as she pulled away from him. He leaned against the wall, glaring at her. Violet could a bit of anger flash in his eyes. She knew she couldn't take any chances. She stroked his arm gently again, in an attempt to calm him down.

"Nothing, I just -- couldn't remember whether or not I had left the stove on." She said, delicately running her fingers down his chest. He closed his eyes, and she narrowed hers as she continued to stroke him ever-so-carefully. Buddy particularly enjoyed being petted, it gave him a sense of safety and security. "I need to go back to bed now --" she started.

"Stay." He said. "Or let me sleep in your room on the floor. Maybe it'll make my nightmares go away."

_Let a psychopathic supervillain sleep in my room? Not a chance. _

"I don't think that's very appropriate," Violet said. "Why don't you go lay down on your couch?"

He frowned for a moment, but sighed and retreated, into the living room and laid down, curling up and pulling the covers over his head. Violet waited until he was completely asleep before she walked into the bathroom. Inside, she saw a few boxes labeled 'Do Not Touch.' Her curiosity was starting to get the best of her.

But Violet knew that if he caught her rummaging through his boxes, he'd most likely get very upset at her. She still didn't know his current motives. She couldn't tell if he had truly changed, or if that was just the cover-up for the fact that he was still planning on seeking revenge. But she knew one thing: she was definitely going to get him arrested, at any cost.

There was no sense in taking chances when it came to dealing with supervillains who have _personal vendettas _against certain members of your family. She heard sounds of groaning and yelping coming from the main room. Buddy was tossing and turning, and yelling random words at times.

"Nightmares." She muttered, walking slowly back into her room.

------

"So much for making plans… I could never hurt Violet, or her family. Besides, revenge is so -- ten years ago." Buddy murmured to himself as he flipped pancakes. It was only 5:00 AM, but he had always been one who was early to rise. "However, that Incredible _did _absolutely ruin my life -- but -- no, no! I can't, and I won't -- or can I? Ouch!" He had gripped the handle of the spatula so hard that he caused it to bend. Red marks were left on his hand, and they began to bleed. He looked down at his pajamas, droplets of blood were running onto them. He groaned and went into the bathroom to change into his regular clothing.

He pulled on a pair of black jeans, and a white t-shirt. He wrapped his hand in a bandage, then went back to cooking. His whole entire body ached, partially from sleeping on the couch, but mostly from past injuries he had received. He stared at one of the scars on his arm. He wished he knew exactly how he had been able to survive both turbine and explosion, but that memory was still foggy to him. He opened his white notebook and stared at the sketches of inventions he was thinking of. He missed his zero-point energy and jet-boots, but it would take years to make new ones.

Buddy turned as he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't see anyone there, which confused him at first, before he realized it might be Violet using her invisibility powers. But why on Earth would she want to use her invisibility powers? Unless of course, she was sleep-walking and using them at the same time. He yelped as he was sent flying forward into the hot stove.

Violet was standing over him holding a large frying pan. "What the heck do you think you're doing?" he asked, his eyes wide as he scrambled to get to his feet. "That hurt, that really hurt.."

"No, duh, Sherlock! But the pain isn't over yet!" she yelled, whacking him once more with the metal pan. All the anger she had felt from the memories of Syndrome's horrible deeds was causing her to lash out more then she had intended to.

He covered his head with his hands and growled. "What did I do to you, Vi?!"

"You're a dangerous criminal, and its my duty as a superhero to bring you to justice," she snarled, whacking him over the head once more.

"What? I thought we were friends! So much for forgive and forget.." He said, grabbed her arm and twisting it until she was forced to drop the pan. It landed on the floor with a loud clang. They stared directly into each other eyes. Neither of them knew what to say. Buddy's grip on her arm tightened, making her wince with pain.

"I trusted you," he growled.

"Same here," she replied.

He pinned her arms to her sides and kissed her. She struggled and pushed him away from her. Her violet eyes were blazing, and her face was red with both embarrassment and rage. Buddy stared at her for a moment and turned around to remove the hot breakfast off of the stove.

"You think _that _makes it over?" she exclaimed, hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"No, but I would think it might help," he said. "Do you want syrup on your pancakes, Vi?"

"Are you kidding me? You just sexually assaulted me! I'm calling the police," Violet growled, moving her hand towards the phone. Buddy continued putting food on the plates as though he hadn't even heard her.

Violet narrowed her eyes and grabbed his shirt. "Don't make me hurt you!"

"I don't really honestly care if you call the police," he said. "What do you think I do in the bathroom all day?"

"I was honestly hoping you were in there because you were constipated," Violet murmured, letting go of his shirt with a sigh.

"I make weapons, just like I did a long time ago. Of course, the ones I'm making currently are nothing spectacular -- they're actually pretty darn pathetic," Buddy said with a shrug. "But they're enough to hold off a few police.."

"Weapons?!" exclaimed Violet, clenching her fists. "You told me you weren't going to go all 'supervillain' again! Were you lying to me?"

"No! NO! But a guy has to have his protection and all, right? I mean, I don't have superpowers like you, Vi. You could just put up a force field or something, I have to invent to keep myself alive."

"I could protect you."

".. How would _that _make me look? I mean, being protected by a _girl _(no offense intended, Vi) -- its not the best if you want to gain respect." He said with an amused half-smile.

"Respect? Why would you need to gain respect? You hardly ever even come out of the apartment." She said, raising an eyebrow as she watched him set things out on the table.

"You think I'm going to stay in here for the rest of my life? Not a chance. Like I said when we first met, I'm only staying until I get a decent job and a place to live." He said, sitting down and digging into the breakfast he made. He used his free hand to pull Violet's chair back so she could sit down next to him.

She sat down and moved the eggs around on the plate with her fork. "I'm sorry for hitting you over the head with that pan. Its just that -- for a moment, the only thing I could remember about you was you being 'the villain'."

"That's completely understandable, Vi. Just -- don't do it again." Buddy said with a slight chuckle.


	5. Been There Done That

**5**

Violet waited impatiently for Buddy to get home from yet another job interview. He had gone out for five previous jobs, and every single time he didn't get it. He blamed it on the supposed fact that he was 'over-qualified.' She blamed it on the fact that he was purposefully messing up his job interviews just so he could stay in her apartment longer. If he kept up the charade any longer, she would kick him out onto the streets.

If there was a prize for the most annoying freeloader in the world, it would definitely go to Buddy. She gazed into her refrigerator to discover he had raided it, taking everything worth eating. She narrowed her eyes and closed the door, muttering harsh words about him to herself. Violet turned her attention to the fan, which had been cranked up to maximum, and was scattering important papers across the floor.

Her dark hair blew over her eyes as he fought her way past bits and pieces of whatever that were getting a free ride courtesy of the fan itself. She shut it off and sighed, bending down to pick up the disarrayed documents. She heard the front door open and a soaking wet figure walked in.

"Gah! What are you doing, Buddy?! You're getting mud and water all over the clean floor, take off your shoes, now!" she yelled, looking quite flustered as she grabbed a towel from her closet and threw it at him.

He looked slightly surprised, but he took off his shoes and set them to the side, and wiped himself off with the towel he had been provided. Violet glanced at him and noticed that he had bruise marks around his left eye, and huge gashes on his cheek. "Did you get in a fight with an alley cat or something?" she asked.

"If you can call Mr. Brockwell an alley cat, then yes.." He murmured, touching his cheek with one hand and using his towel to wipe of his hair with the other.

"What kind of an idiot are you?!" she shouted.

"The good kind?" he said with a slight shrug. "Man, I didn't know that the guy would be offended if I just _suggested_ that his small size made him look like an elf. After all, he called me a leprechaun first.."

Violet couldn't help but laugh at that. She looked at him and pictured him in the clothing she had seen leprechauns in various drawings wear. If he just grew a beard, it would be perfect. 

"I've never been really good at the whole fisticuffs thing, so I pretty much got pulverized, by Mr. Brockwell _and_ his body guards." Buddy said, getting up to find a gauze pad to put over his wounds.

"In other words, you completely botched up your entire interview on purpose," Violet said, rolling her eyes.

"No! Why would I do that? I really want a job."

"_Sure_ you do."

He stared at her for a moment. "I'm going to go take a walk."

"In the rain? I don't think so."

Buddy glared. "What if I _like _walking the rain?"

"You've told me many, many times that you absolutely hate it." Violet mumbled. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing, I hope." He said with a slight yawn. "I could be a little bit loony, but that's about it."

She stared and grumbled unintelligible words under her breath. The doorbell rang, and she got up to answer it. She wasn't expecting anyone, but she figured it was Dash. He enjoyed dropping by unexpected. Normally, she would enjoy his visits, but this time she was scared he would find out about her harboring a wanted criminal. Of course, she wasn't willingly harboring him, so maybe it didn't count.  
She opened the door nervously, but who she saw was certainly not who she was expecting. It was her father, Bob Parr, also known as Mr. Incredible. She slammed the door without giving him a second to talk. Violet rushed over to Terry, grabbed him by the shirt sleeve, and shoved him into the closet.

"Stay put, and don't move!" she growled to him, slamming the door.

She walked over to the door again and opened it, making sure she looked decent. "Hi, dad! Come on in! Sorry it took me so long, I had to clean up some garbage…"

Violet heard an irritated grunt come from the closet area.

"Did you hear something?" asked Mr. Parr, tilting his head to the side and holding up one hand for silence. After no more sounds came, he sat down on the couch and looked around. "We haven't heard from you in a while. Dash was going to come and visit, but he has a bit of a cold."

"Ah, well, that's too bad." Violet said with a hint of edginess in her voice. She sat down on the chair opposite of her father with a fake smile plastered on her pale face. "How's mom?"

"She's doing just fine. She just went to take Jack-Jack over to his friend Mickey's house for a sleep over. You remember Mickey, don't you?" Bob said, looking a little anxious when he saw the worried look Violet had. "Are you alright, Vi?"

"Just fine," she said, attempting to regain composure. "I'm just stressing out about a few reports I have to do for the NSA. You know how hard those are."

"I can only imagine. I'm glad I retired before that whole issue came up."

Scratching noises and coughing came from the closet. Violet froze for a second as her father turned his head in that direction. "Violet, I think someone has broken into your apartment.."

"Nonsense, Dad! You're old crime fighting skills are just kicking in over nothing." Violet said in the most convincing voice she could manage. _What is he trying to do, get himself caught?_

"I'm going to take a look, just in case." 

_ No!_

Violet abruptly got up with a gasp. "No, no!"

"What?" Bob said, a confused look on his face.

"I -- don't think there is anything there. Come on, sit down and I'll get you some iced tea, okay?"

"Are you trying to hide something from me?" he asked.

"Not at all, Dad! I just think you're being rather hasty, that's all. I'm sure there is nothing there, no one could have broke into the apartment -- that's impossible. It just might be a squirrel that chewed its way in.."

He looked at her suspiciously, a knowing look in his eye. "I'm going to check anyway."

She heard more coughing coming from the closet, along with a bit of gagging and wheezing. She raised an eyebrow and followed close behind her father, preparing to act extremely surprised. She looked down and the floor and noticed blood seeping out onto her carpet.  
Violet put her hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened. Her father opened the closet, and out tumbled Buddy, coughing and gagging, with several assorted sharp things lodged in his shoulder, arm, and side. "What the --?!" exclaimed Bob, assuming fighting stance at once.

"Dad, no! This man is hurt!" she exclaimed at once, kneeling down to examine Buddy's wounds. She had completely forgotten about the security system in the closet. He must have triggered one of the alerts. She rolled him over, noticing that his eyes were glossy and his breathing was labored. In the closet there was a pool of blood, oozing out and staining the floor.

Bob tensed up as he caught a glance of Buddy's face. "He looks just like --" he didn't finish his sentence. Violet was worried her father might do something hasty, just as she did when she first met her house guest. She glanced at him, waiting for some sort of reaction. Bob just ran his hand through his graying hair.

"What happened to him?" he mumbled.

"I'm guessing it was my security system. Help me get him to my bed," Violet said as she rushed to the cabinet in the kitchen to retrieve her first aid kit.

"Shouldn't we go to the hospital?" Bob said. "Or better yet, the prison. They have a hospital there. This_ fellow_ was obviously trying to steal something."

"You don't know that," Violet replied. "Please, Dad, just cooperate with me! Lift him into my bed."

Bob was reluctant at first, but he gave a sigh and picked up Buddy without any effort at all, lifting him into Violet's bed. Violet rushed in with her first aid kit and gently pulled out the sharp objects that were impaled in various places. She applied cleaning solution and bandages. She heard the noise of Buddy's raspy breathing, and she wiped a bead of sweat off her brow.

"Why do you seem so worried, Vi? This is a common criminal here, not someone who needs this much care and attention." Bob said. Violet could hear the tone of suspicion and darkness in his voice.

"He's not a _common_ criminal," Violet whispered to herself. She looked at her father and then back to her 'friend'. She wiped a bit off blood off of Buddy's curly red hair with the wet rag she held. "Dad, I know this guy. I just -- didn't want you to meet him yet," she said after a long moment of silence.

For a moment, her father didn't respond. She cringed, waiting for him to lash out at her with some overreaction. "Is this your boyfriend?" he asked.

That wasn't the kind of question she had been expecting. "Ahm. Yes." Violet replied. Of course, it was in no way the truth, but she had dug herself a deep hole and was now trapped in it.

"You could have just told me that, Vi. I'm actually very happy you finally have someone in your life," Bob said with a smile. "You were so heartbroken after Tony left you, I almost thought you'd never find someone to replace him."

"Thanks, Dad." Violet said, narrowing her eyes as she turned away from him. _What have I done now?_


	6. Everybody's Fool

**6**

Violet shoved Buddy's clothing into a suitcase. She ripped one of his notebooks from his clutch and tucked it in. Angrily, she slammed down the top and zipped it up. She turned around and glared at him. His eyes were wide and he looked absolutely confused. He opened his mouth to say something, but the only thing that came out was a squeak.

"Alright, get out of here, now." She said, giving him the suitcase and pointing at the door. "You have thirty seconds to leave or I'm calling the police to come and pick you up, do you understand me?"

He didn't say a word as he turned to leave. She was silently counting the seconds, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes narrowed. He opened the door and turned to look at her for a second before sighing and walking out. The hallway was dark, but the night outside was even darker. Violet sat down on her couch and sighed, her face in her palms.

"Great, I finally did it! I finally kicked him out." She said to herself. "I'll just explain to Dad that we had an argument, and broke up. That's the end of it. I'll never see him again, and hopefully he'll manage to stay away from me."

She heard a rustling noise coming from her door. She prepared to clobber him if he had decided to return to attempt to talk her out of kicking him out. She looked down as a piece of folded paper was slid under the door. Violet picked it up and opened the door, expecting to see him standing there. To her surprise, she saw no one. There was no sign that he had even returned.

She unfolded the note and saw an address, one that seemed familiar, almost too familiar. Scribbled beneath it were the words: _Stop me if you can, sweetheart._ Violet narrowed her eyes and folded the note. She put it in her pocket and walked outside to the alleyway. She'd need an advanced computer to figure out who the address belonged to, and the only people she knew of who had a computer like that were the NSA technicians. The last thing she had wanted was for him to do something stupid.

"I should have just turned him in the moment I found out who he really was," she mumbled. She would never forgive herself if people were killed because she had a bit of an attachment to a criminal who should have been locked away for life. She flinched as she heard a knock on the door.

"Its open, just come in.." Violet called, not bothering to move from the spot on which she stood. The door opened a crack and a homely looking man peeked in, grease stains on his cheeks and some sort of black soot around his eyes.

"My name is Larson, Larson Kade, and I'm here to fix the leak under your sink." The man said, kicking the door open wider and hauling in a box of tools. Violet raised an eyebrow and followed him to the kitchen.

"Sir, you must have the wrong apartment, I don't have a leak under my --"

"'Course you do! See, I have all your information right here! Now, let me see.."

"Mr. Kade --"

She heard yet another knock on the door. She opened it to see an acne-ridden blond teenaged boy holding enough pizzas to feed an entire college. "Hey, lady, could you help me with the 'leaning tower of pizza' here," he said with a good-natured laugh. He stumbled in, trying not to drop the huge stack.

"I didn't order any --"

Her eyes narrowed as another knock came on the door. Packages were being stacked in the hallway, and a uniformed delivery woman held a clipboard. "Sign here, please, Ms. Parr," she grunted. Violet signed without hardly realizing it, uttering unintelligible complaints. She saw box upon box being loaded in.

"I didn't order anything like this --" she attempted to say, but her words amounted to a disgruntled squeak.

"**Where's the fire**?!" came a yell from down the hallway as three men carrying a huge hose sped to the scene. Water sprayed all over Violet, causing her to fall backwards onto the floor, soaking wet.

"There isn't a fire here!" she screamed.

Paramedics followed the firemen. Upon seeing the enraged Violet laying upon the floor, they immediately sped up to her and began checking to see if she was okay. "That son of a --"

"Ma'am, are you alright?" one of the paramedics asked.

"He did this to me!" she yelled.

A policeman stood behind them. "Who did this to you, and which way did he go?" he said, pulling out a notepad. "Did he assault you with a weapon, or was he unarmed?"

"NO! That stupid excuse for a --"

"Please answer the questions, miss."

"AUUGGGH!"

She felt a tug on her pants as Mr. Kade fell over and grabbed her, causing her pants to drop to the floor, right as the news photographers snapped a picture. She turned bright red and pulled them up again. This was the kind of thing she had seen in cartoons, not the kind of thing she expected to deal with in real life.

The phone rang, and she got up to answer it, hoping it would be a member of her family or a close friend who could help her out of the mess. She picked it up, and in a desperate voice she managed to say, "hello? Who is this?"

"This is Arnold Schwarzenegger…"

------

It had taken many, many days to sort out the whole mess. She had no idea how on earth Buddy had managed to arrange such a thing, or how he did it in such a short amount of time. Had he been prepared for her kicking him out of the apartment? She knew one thing for sure: if she ever saw him again, she was going to pulverize him. The day before, Violet had looked in her purse to find that her credit card had been stolen. She later found out that it had also been used to pay for the whole thing.

She had tried to prevent the photographers from using the pictures they took, but some of them leaked out and were put into the paper, causing much humiliation. The boxes she had received were mostly filled with nothing but packing peanuts, however a few were filled with random embarrassing items. She couldn't believe how childish Buddy's form of revenge had been.

She also found out that the address on the note was her own. It was no wonder it had looked so familiar at the moment. "I hate him," she growled to herself. "Its my fault he isn't in jail right now." Her phone rang. She didn't bother to answer it, as prank calls were coming in by the dozens. She was growing paranoid, hoping that he didn't have anything bigger planned.

"He's out there, somewhere, laughing his head off, and I'm going to find him, and kill him," she told herself. "And this time, I'll make sure there is no way on Earth he'll be able to pull a comic-book type 'come back from the dead' thing."

"Hey, Vi, are you ready to let me come back to live in your apartment?"

Violet stiffly turned around to face the door, her eyes blazing and her fists clenched so tight that it hurt. There was Buddy, leaning up against the doorframe, with a massive childish grin on his face. She walked towards him without a word, making sure she looked as menacing as she possibly could.

"Ahm, sweetheart?" he said with a nervous chuckle, backing up a slight bit. She continued to advance towards him, her face red with anger. "Is this a bad time or something? I can leave, and come back some other time if now -- isn't -- good.."

She stopped for a second, noticing that he had backed himself into a corner. "You are such a bastard!" she yelled.

"I blame my parents," he said, attempting to bring a little humor into the situation. It didn't work.

"What were you _thinking_?! You stole my credit card and used it to pay for all sorts of dumb things. Playing pranks? Do you honestly think I would let you **back **in my apartment after that? You_must _be out of your mind. This time, though, I'm not even going to let you leave this building _unescorted_. I will make_sure _that you will receive very, very severe punishments for what you've just done, and what you did in the past. You are a pathetic excuse for a human being and -- augh!"

Buddy had leaped on her and pinned her to the ground. "Don't monologue, idiot." He growled, pushing her hands behind her back and holding them there as he yanked her off the ground. Violet squirmed in an attempt to get away.

"My father is going to hear about this, you know!" she screeched.

"What, are you too _weak _to manage to bring me to jail yourself? That would explain the times you've threatened to phone the police instead of just arresting me yourself. Some super you are." He snorted, sticking out his tongue.

"I threatened to phone the police because I was in my alter-ego and I couldn't --"

"Oh, that reminds me! Now that I know we're not on friendly terms anymore, I'll just tell you that I sold your identity to several people!"

"You did _what_?" Violet gasped, staring at him in disbelief.

"I made a whole _bunch _of money. I'm practically rich again. You'd be amazed how many people would pay to know who a superhero's alter ego is.. Oh, and the offers I've received for your _father's_identity -- oh, man, I'll be living with a basically unlimited budget again in _no time_. Its like business and revenge wrapped into one! Its just so -- ack!"

"Don't monologue, idiot." Violet said, watching the force field she had hit him with vanish slowly. Buddy was on the ground, rubbing his bruised face with his hand. "Whoa, take it easy!" he yelled.

"You want me to _take it easy_?" she said, her voice quavering. "You've basically _ruined _my life, and you want me to -- be calm about it? Why the heck did you come back here, anyway? You don't really want to stay in my apartment, you simply want to drive me_insane_!"

"Well, no, actually I want to get into your pa--"

"You're so dead."

"Tell me, do I look dead to you?" he snorted sarcastically, pushing himself to his feet. He shook his head dizzily and stumbled back a bit.

"You will before too long, you fire-headed geek," she retorted.

"Ow-a-cha," he grunted. "Yeah, well, go ahead -- _kill _me."

_You just love to push it to the limit, Syndrome.. _Violet could tell that he knew that any normal hero would never be able to do something like that. The only way she could justify killing him was for him to attempt to kill _her _first, which granted her the right to use lethal force. She turned around, attempting to give him a temporary advantage.

He was obviously confused. "What in the name of --?" he murmured. "What are you doing?"

Her eyes narrowed and she felt her ears grow hot. "What are you waiting for?!" she screamed at him.

"-- I am -- what -- oh, please, you don't expect me to attack you, do you?" he snickered, running his tongue over his mouth to clean off a bit of blood which had trickled from a cut on his upper lip. "That'd be like -- that would be stupid -- and its stupid for you to think that I would. Now, can't we forget about all this, kiss and make up?"

Violet pounced on him, grabbed his left shoulder with one hand, and formed a small force field with the other. He kicked her and ran at her, grabbing her shirt and pulling her to the ground. They rolled on the floor for a few seconds, tugging on each other's clothing and hitting each other until they heard a voice from down the hall.

"Geezums, sis, get a room.." Dash was leaning up against the wall with an amused expression on his face.

"Dash!" she exclaimed, kicking Buddy and standing up. "Dash, where is dad? I need his help with this lunatic!"

"He'll be here in a minute, he got his jacket caught in the door of his new car, and he doesn't want to do anything to damage it," Dash chuckled. "So -- what were you doing? Who the heck is that guy anyway?"

"_That_is Syndrome, which is why we need to --"

"You're kidding, right? That guy from all those years ago? Impossible, we all_saw _his plane explode, we all _know _he's dead," Dash said. He walked past his sister, but leaned over for a second to whisper something into her ear. "Lay off the early morning extra-spicy salsa and chips thing, m'kay?" he said, patting her on the back and walking over to Buddy, who was attempting to stand up.

"So, sir, care to explain why you were wrestling on the ground with my sister?" he said, leaning down to look Buddy in the eye. "Between you and me, she looked like she was winning -- you might want to start working out more."

Buddy reached up to punch Dash, but missed and fell over. "You're a_pathetic _one, aren't you?" he chuckled, sitting down on the ground so he could get a good look at the man's face. He heard the sound of his father's voice from down the hallway. Violet had rushed up to greet him, yelling things about the pitiful-looking man on the floor being a dangerous super villain.

"Sweetie, isn't this the guy you told me was your boyfriend?" Bob said, obviously confused. Violet narrowed her eyes and yelled, "it's a long story, okay?! I'll tell you later! Now please, help arrest him!"

".. Let me tell you three things: one, I'm retired from being a superhero," he made sure to keep his voice low in case someone was attempting to listen to his conversation, "two, I don't have my super suit with me, and three, this man clearly isn't -- Syndrome!"

"Dad, look at him. Just look at him! Buddy, tell him who you really are, or I'll mess your face up so badly that mothers will hide their children's eyes when you walk by!"

".. Are you kidding me?" Buddy asked, glaring at Dash who was taunting him. "I don't know what you're talking about, lady!"

"Excuse me, if I may be allowed to butt into this conversation.."

They turned their heads to see a sharply dressed man, holding his NSA ID up so everyone could see it. "I'm Agent Jack Cautz, and I need all four of you to come with me."

* * *

**Author Note:**

_Whew, I think things have gone a little comical, don't you? I do believe I'm going to have to start going back to the serious side of this story before I have to change one of the categories to 'Comedy' or something._


	7. The Swing Of Things

**7**

Agent Cautz grabbed his keycard from the inner pocket of his jacket. The door slid open, and more security features appeared in front of him. He pressed his hand against a scanner, and stood still as a full beam scanned his entire body. He turned around to face the four who were standing behind him. Buddy looked intrigued as he examined the high-tech piece of equipment.

"I need you all to please step under the scanner. It will check for any guns, knives, and other assorted dangerous things," Cautz said, pointing to where he had just stepped away from.

"We're superheroes, dude! Why on Earth would we need to carry any guns or anything?" Dash said with a chuckle. Cautz simply looked at Buddy, who had pressed himself up against one of the security machines and was closely examining it. 

"Good point.. Who is that guy anyway?" Dash said, scratching his head. "Is he super too, or is he just coming along for the ride?"

"Please step under the scanner, Terry," said Agent Cautz, grabbing Buddy by the shoulder and firmly escorting him over to the platform. Buddy looked slightly confused for a moment, but then he realized that his name was probably still Terry in the eyes of any NSA agent. He wondered if they knew that a blow to his head had reversed their mind-wiping. He cringed as an alarm sounded shrill in his ears.

Cautz looked at the monitor, and saw nothing foreign. He shrugged and wrote something down on a hand-held electronic object. He grabbed Buddy and slapped one end of a handcuff on his wrist. He motioned for Dash, Violet, and Bob to go ahead and step under the scanner. "One at a time, please," he said.

"Excuse me, Agent Cautz, but why am I -- handcuffed?" Buddy asked, tilting his head and tugging on one end of it. 

"Because I just received orders that I'm supposed to keep you under strict surveillance. Are you all done over there?" Cautz said, turning around to face the others. Nothing dangerous showed on the monitor, thus they were permitted to go further inside the building. He led them down a hallway, which opened up into a much larger room. 

Violet cringed; the air smelled like chemicals, decaying things and gunpowder. Apparently, the only two who didn't seem to notice the smell were Cautz and Buddy. They walked into a room, with a large computer in it. Bob whistled as he saw all the technology. "This place looks completely different from when I was last here," he said. 

"Agent Cautz, why are we here?" Violet asked as she sat down on one of the cold metal seats. "Have we done something to get in trouble? I'm sure I've returned all the papers I'm supposed to write in on time.."

"Me too!" exclaimed Dash.

The NSA agent didn't seem to be paying attention to him. Instead, he was busily examining Buddy, pulling off a strand of his hair, collecting a bit of loose skin in a dish, and drawing blood out of his arms. Cautz then proceeded to perform what looked to be a medical check up on him, except with more sophisticated tools then anything they had ever seen. Cautz then handcuffed Buddy to the chair (much to his dismay) and pulled the other three aside.

"Is it serious, doctor?" Dash said jokingly.

"More serious than you may think, Dash. That man over there, Terry Burwell, is actually a criminal from years ago whom we attempted to rehabilitate after wiping his mind clear of past memories. He escaped from the NSA-PHCI, and has been loose for many weeks. Now that we've finally caught up with him, we believe, due to a concussion he received, he has regained his memory."

"I could have told you that," Violet grumbled inaudibly. 

"Well, what does this have to do with any of us?" Bob asked.

"Do you remember around -- ten years ago? There was an incident with a man by the name of Syndrome --" 

"Are you suggesting this guy is --?" Dash asked, eyes wide.

"He is. Now, I have some things I want to all to --" Cautz started.

"Wait just one moment! We all saw him -- die! Why didn't you tell me he was alive?" Bob exclaimed. "That son of a -"

"Breadstick!" filled in Dash.

"Should either get some sort of a death sentence, or be put up in jail for life! That rotten, no good piece of -"

"Sushi!"

"That idiotic mother -"

"French toast!"

"Dad, calm down before Dash runs out of food to censor you with," Violet said, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure the NSA will take care of him now, won't you, Mr. Cautz?"

She heard him suck in a deep breath. "_Well_.. My supervisor says we're handing him over to _your family _so that you can finish reforming him.."

Dash looked surprised, Violet looked dismayed, and Bob looked absolutely horrified. They sat there for a moment, none of them saying anything. It was Dash who finally broke the silence. "We get to help reform a hardened criminal! Cool!"

".. What? Mr. Cautz, you've got to be kidding me! You realize that man tried to kill my family, and kidnap my brother!" gasped Violet, hardly believing she would have to once again keep watch over him. "Why _our _family?"

"He was basically _your family's _arch enemy, especially the enemy your father who -- doesn't seem to be responding at the moment.." Cautz said, looking fidgety. "He's not going to go -- 'boom' on us, is he?"

"Wouldn't be surprised," Violet growled.

"What will mom say?" Dash asked. "Well, since we're keeping him -- where's he going to stay? I mean, Violet lives out of the house, I live out of the house -- and I don't know if you want him around Jack-Jack and mom during the day while dad is at work.." 

"We'll send an agent over to help watch him." Agent Cautz said.

".. This is ridiculous. Why couldn't you try out your new 'adopt a villain' program or whatever on someone else. I'm not going to watch him! I don't want to go near him, I don't want to have anything to do with him!"

Bob still wasn't saying anything.

"Ooops!" they heard from inside the room where Buddy was sitting. "I don't think that's supposed to fall off like that.."

Agent Cautz muttered to himself and walked in to find that the former supervillain had somehow freed himself from the handcuffs, knocked over assorted bits of equipment, climbed up on the counter, and knocked several specimen jars to the floor. He was still up on the counter, looking down onto the floor where a security camera had fallen off the wall and smashed into pieces.

"That looks like it might have been expensive," Dash commented.

"How did you manage to get loose!" Violet exclaimed, walking over to Buddy and pulling him down off the counter. She tugged him over to Agent Cautz and sighed. "We just can't manage to take care of him, Mr. Cautz. It doesn't seem like he's quite -- housetrained."

Dash chuckled. "Aww, come on Violet, can't we keep him?"

"This isn't some game, Dash, we're dealing with a violent psychopathic criminal here --" 

"But come on, we can take care of him!"

"I've dealt with him before! I had to 'take care of him' for a few weeks, and it was in no way pleasant. Sure he made breakfast, drew pictures of me, and was an all-around --"

"Cute wittle puppy-dog type dude. So, you took care of him?"

".. Yes.."

"For weeks?"

"Yes.."

"You _like _him don't you, Violet?"

"You're just plain crazy, Dash! He was a jerk, and he'll always be a stupid, arrogant, annoying pest of a criminal." She said, folding her arms over her chest. 

"Oh, come now, I'm not that bad, sweetheart!" Buddy said, resting his head on Violet's shoulder.

"_Sweetheart_? Ha-ha! So you _do _like each other!" Dash chortled, barely believing what he was hearing.

Violet pushed Buddy away from her and growled at her brother. "No! He's just being an idiot, like always." 

"Way to hurt a guy's feelings," Buddy whimpered sarcastically. "I thought we were best friends, Vi! Please, can't I stay with you? I promise I'll use the newspaper in the corner!" He said with a grin.

".. See, Violet! He is housebroken!" Dash exclaimed jokingly.

"Dash, this is serious, and nothing to laugh about." Violet said, raising her hand in a threatening way at her brother. Agent Cautz pulled out a stack of forms and set them in front of Buddy. "I need to get your signature on all of these.."

"What makes you think I'll sign anything," Buddy said. "I'm smarter than that! I may not act it, but I am!"

".. I don't believe you're a genius for a second," Violet snarled. 

"Oooh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Buddy retorted. "So, where's your _father _by the way? Did he manage to get himself _lost_?"

"I hate you."

"I hate you more."

"Okay, the Dash will now break up the fight between his sister and the old villain from the past," Dash said, standing in between the two before they could leap at each other. "Calm down, you two. Sheesh, you're fighting like a married couple!"

"_Shut up_.." Violet hissed.

"Well, you are!" Dash taunted.

"I said _shut up_, you little _insect_!" 

"Pshaw! Kids.." Buddy chuckled. He looked around, wondering if he could escape while everyone else was distracted. He didn't want to have to be watched constantly. In his mind, he was already reformed. He didn't need to be reformed any further. Of course, in his mind, he was never a criminal to begin with.

".. Agent Cautz! I had an idea, what if you were to erase his mind again! That'd make him safer, wouldn't it?" Dash exclaimed.

Buddy shrunk back. He didn't want to loose his memory again. "_No_," he whined.

"It'd make him safer, but it also may damage his brain again.."

"Again?" Buddy asked. "What have you all done to me?"

".. That's a very good question.. I'll have to come up with a very good answer.." Cautz started.. "It all began when your cape was caught in the jet turbine and your plane exploded.."

".. No, no, I can tell this is going to be one of those things -- like in the movies, with the whole flashback and all that, only not really. I don't want to hear anymore. I'll figure things out by myself. I am, after all, a genius." Buddy said, covering his ears in an immature 'na-na-na-na-na, I can't hear you' sort of way.

"You expect me to put up with _this_?" gasped Violet to agent Cautz.

The agent only gave a slight shrug and nodded. "Yeah, he's all yours. Now, you'd best go find your dad and get this guy over here home -- before he does any more damage --" he eyed the broken security camera. "Good luck."

Violet walked out of the room in a slump, dragging Buddy along behind her. Dash was following, looking absolutely elated. They paused when they found Bob, still the way they left him. "Dad, come on, snap out of it. We've got to get this idiot home." She said, snapping her fingers in front of her father's face.

"Huh? Oh. Why you -- you!" Bob started to advance towards Buddy, intent on knocking his block off. 

"Oh, heh-heh. Gee, Mr. Incredible, wow.. You seem to hate me more than I hate you -- heh-heh.. Ahm.. Oh.. Oh.. I see, you're going to strangle me -- well, I wish you wouldn't, you see, it's not good for my -- health -- but I think that's your intention -- can't we talk about this, please?"

Violet cringed as Bob started to beat the crap out of the former super-villain. Well, he seemed to be at least going a little lighter on the guy, otherwise Buddy would be quite did from the first blow to his chin. Dash was cheering, rooting and jumping in the air. Her mind started to wander until she came to a certain question she had asked earlier:

What _was _her mom going to say?


	8. Between Your Mama And Yourself

**8**

Mrs. Parr was going to have a cow. There was no doubt in anyone's mind as the walked silently up to the front door. Not even Dash had any comment to make. They were basically digging themselves a grave, all of them. Helen wouldn't let Buddy stay with them, even if pigs were flying. In some ways, that was a good thing. They could pull a 'return to sender' on the NSA, give them back their partially reformed villain, and claim it was due to technical difficulties or something equally cheesy. Dash slowly rang the doorbell, every ounce of enthusiasm he once had dosed by a sense of impending doom.

"Oh, you're home!" they heard from inside. "Give me a second, there's a bit of a mess on the floor!"

After a few awkwardly silent moments, the door swung open, and a rather frazzled looking middle-aged woman stood there, smiling at them as sweetly as she could, pushing back a displaced lock of graying auburn hair. "-- Oh, hello!" she exclaimed, upon seeing Buddy cowering behind the rest of them. Helen walked up to Bob and whispered harshly. "You didn't tell me you were bringing over company. The house isn't clean, I haven't got enough food made for dinner to feed him and --"

"I'll explain everything in due time," Bob grumbled. "Where's Jack-Jack? Could you tell him to go to his room for a while?"

"Why, is something wrong?"

"I said I'd explain _later_."

She glared at him piercingly and opened the door a little wider to let everyone in. They were still silent, and Buddy was making sure to hide his face as much as possible. Sure, he looked about ten years older, but that wasn't going to stop him from being extremely careful. He still resembled the way he looked years before; despite the fact that his hair had been cut shorter, and the majority of freckles on his face had long vanished. His voice had deepened a bit too. All the better to disguise himself with. He coughed slightly and looked around at the house. It was all very, very nice. There was a cute little red-headed kid playing with toy firetrucks on the floor of the living room. He assumed it was the same evil demon-child he had tried to kidnap years before.

"Jack-Jack, go play in your room," Helen told the boy. Jack-Jack hesitated at first, pouting, and then gathered up his playthings and retreated to his room in a slump, murmuring things about it being unfair and what-not. "Alright, so who is this?" she asked after her son had left, gesturing at Buddy, attempting to urge a formal introduction on.

"Ahm. This is Buddy," Violet ventured. "He'll be staying with us -- you -- he'll be staying with you, Dad, and Jack-Jack for a while."

There was a look of strong annoyance in Helen's eyes. She clearly did not like the idea of having random guests pop over to stay for a while without her consent first. No, she didn't like it one bit. She shot a glare at her husband, the we're-going-to-talk-about-this-later sort of glare. "Well, nice to meet you, Buddy, care for something to drink?" 

Buddy sighed a bit in relief. She clearly hadn't recognized him, but she didn't seem to happy about him having to stay with her family either. Well, it was better than getting pulverized on the spot. After all, his body was still aching from having been beaten up by 'Mr. Incredible' back at the NSA headquarters. Luckily, that fight had been broken up by a few agents. 

"Water," he squeaked. _Whoa, that sounded pathetic. _He thought to himself. His throat was more dry than he realized. Suddenly, he knew he had to at least try to use manners, so he added a quick 'please.' He watched as Helen went into the kitchen to fetch him a glass of water. Everyone had their eyes on him as if he had guns hidden somewhere and was planning to go on a mass-murder spree. It didn't feel very good. Maybe he had made some mistakes in the past, but that was all over, wasn't it? _Wasn't it_? Eh, no, probably not. 

Helen returned with a glass of ice-water, and coyly handed it over to Buddy. She was still ticked off, that was clear enough. "So, are you Violet's boyfriend? I heard she had one," Helen murmured, not exactly making eye contact with the unwanted guest. That question got a giggle out of Dash, but Helen's strict glare soon shut him up.

"-- Not really," Buddy said, blushing ever so slightly. _Why the bloody heck am I blushing? This is absolutely embarrassing. _"Nice house you have, Mrs. Parr, it'll be a pleasure staying with you." He figured it would be best to try and make a good impression. Maybe it'd mean there would be less 'impressions' on his _face_ later on. He flinched nervously when Helen gave a half-hearted grunt in reply to his comment. _Oh, she's going to hate me. That's just brilliant. I'd better just get ready to die._

"Well, look at the time! I think I'd best be -- uhm -- going -- I've got stuff to do in other places and, well, you see -- I don't live here anymore! Uhm -- gotta dash!" Dash exclaimed, backing away and running out the door in a hurry, wanting to get as far away from the house as he possibly could before his dad and sister broke the news to his mother that the guest that would be staying with them was an assumed-dead super villain from a very long time ago.

"So, how long are you staying with us, Buddy?" asked Helen, gazing at him intently, waiting for his reply. It almost scared the poor guy to death -- he really didn't want to be where he was at that moment. One thought came to his mind: maybe he should do what Dash did, and run out the door. No, that might get him into deeper trouble. They might take him back to the nuthouse, and erase his memory, and he just couldn't tolerate several more years of extreme therapy, people in white coats, and depressing confusion. "I guess I'll be staying with you for a while, it all depends, really," he said softly, trying to disguise his voice even further, though he didn't really need to. Helen eyed him suspiciously, and then turned to her husband.

"A while, eh?" she said, a bit of a glint in her eyes. "Buddy, do you mind staying here and talking with Violet for a while, I've got to speak with Mr. Parr." She shot Buddy a look that said you'd best not protest. He didn't and he slunk over to one of the couches and sat down. Violet noted that when he sat, it looked as though he was in a bit of pain, but he didn't mention anything about it. That was strange, he was very big on complaining about things, after all. She was brought out of her thoughts by a squeaking sound Buddy made, followed by a couple of grunts.

"Eh-heh. Well, nice weather we're having, don't you think?" he muttered.

"I'm not much for small talk. Why don't you just keep your mouth shut, eh, Syndrome?" Violet said, glaring at him.

He stood up quickly, and growled. "Don't call me that! I'm not Syndrome! How many times must I tell you people, I don't have any intention of going back to being a 'supervillain' or whatever, I wanted to be a super**hero**!" 

Buddy was in obvious pain when he had stood up abruptly as well, but he still hadn't mentioned anything about it. They both turned their heads quickly when they heard harsh yelling coming from the next room over. Buddy shrunk back, sitting down again, looking a bit pale. "You're hurt, aren't you," Violet sneered. She wasn't in the mood to be nice, she was in the mood to tease in a mean-spirited way. "What a shame. I guess my Dad was too tough on you, then."

There was more yelling from the next room. Buddy didn't respond to anything Violet said. He looked very worried. She had never seen him looked so worried, ever. That irked her, deeply. Villains weren't supposed to have emotions that were so human. They were supposed to be conscienceless evil men and women with revenge on their minds; so caught up in planning and exacting that they didn't have time to feel emotions. It just didn't seem right to her. She bit her lip and leaned back. "Why do you look so scared?" she asked.

"This isn't going to work for me. I'm going to do something wrong, and they're going to kill me -- or worse -- worse, they might send me back to that terrible place which I came from, with those -- terrible people and," he stopped and sucked in a painful breath, wincing and flinching uncomfortably. "Violet, I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me, or I'm going to hurt you, very badly."

"I'd actually like to see you try. I don't get hurt very easily, you know," she challenged, eyeing him as he stood up weakly and headed towards the door. He didn't respond and opened it. To her surprise, there was an NSA agent standing there, startling Buddy and making him back away. The agent peeked in and waved his credentials in a standoffish manner, while yelling: "I'm Agent Reeves, from the National Supers Association. I was sent here to help you out with the reformation of a dangerous criminal by the name of Syndrome."

"I'm not dangerous, I'm not a criminal, and my name is **not **Syndrome," Buddy growled, clenching his fists extremely tight, all the while looking rather hurt and degraded. He wasn't a villain in his mind, he was a hero, and that would stick with him, no matter what anyone said. "And stop waving that stupid badge of yours in my face!" He whacked the agent's hand and sent the papers flying onto the floor.

Violet got up and grabbed Buddy back, shoving him into the living room, forcing him onto the floor. She grabbed the agent's hand and shook it, just as her mother and father came into the room, each of them looking frustrated and red in the face. "Mom, Dad, this is -- Agent Reeves, of the NSA, he's the one that'll be helping you watch Buddy," she said, pulling the agent inside the house and shutting the door. She peered into the living room very quickly and saw that Buddy was still sitting on the floor, looking very upset at everything. "Buddy, come here," she commanded.

He slowly pushed himself up, once again wincing and tripped forward, making everyone jump into defensive positions. Buddy's eyes widened and he regained his balance, shrinking back just a little bit. He didn't quite understand why he was being treated so harshly. Certainly there had been worse 'supervillains' before him, who deserved this treatment more than he did. Agent Reeves relaxed a little bit and greeted Mr. and Mrs. Parr. They weren't very enthusiastic in their exchange of welcomes. 

"Well, I think you should both probably get Syndrome settled in a spare bedroom," Agent Reeves suggested, motioning towards Buddy who was about to protest about being called by his alias name. Violet grabbed him by his wrist and started leading him towards the guest bedroom. Everyone else followed, her parents being rather sluggish the whole time. The agent took one look at the bedroom and shook his head, uttering a 'tsk tsk' sound.

"This isn't going to do. Look at this, he can very easily escape from here. We're going to have to modify a lot of this. There's no harm in being cautious, I mean." Reeves said, looking around. "Let's see," he said, beginning to ramble. "We're going to have to install bars on these windows, and this bed will have to go in favor for something with restraints, we'll have to put casing around this light fixture here --"

Buddy looked more dismayed with every word the NSA agent said. He was hot, uncomfortable, confused, upset -- he was an overall mess. He hadn't even drank a sip of the water he had been given earlier. It had been left in the living room, and his throat would remain itchy and dry. They weren't going to give him hardly any freedom at all during his stay -- exactly how was all this going to help to 'reform' him anyway? It made things worse having to stay with the family of his arch enemy. Being hated helped nothing; it made him want to withdrawal. He wanted to be alone.

He coughed and slumped down onto the floor, closing his eyes partially in a tired manner. He was truly tired, and very sore all over. But it wasn't because of the heavy blows he'd received when Bob went temporarily crazy and knocked him up quite a bit. He was always sore all over, and he didn't know why, so he chose to ignore it. The nurses at the mental hospital hadn't been able to explain it. That, or they were hiding something from him. He remembered that he really should be taking the pills they had prescribed to him. It would not only ease the pain, but it would ease his anxiety and paranoia. 

Agent Reeves was on his cell phone, apparently ordering all of the things he needed to keep everyone 'safe' from the 'wrath of Syndrome.' He shifted uncomfortably. There was no forgiveness, anywhere. Maybe it was just too late to apologize? Yes, it was much too late to apologize. They would never forgive him, never. What he had done was -- unforgivable. His eyes drooped and he struggled to keep himself awake, but the overall drama of everything had exhausted him. Maybe he should never have run away. Maybe he should never have tried to get revenge and become a superhero. Maybe he never should have had an unhealthy obsession with Mr. Incredible in the first place. Maybe he never should have been born. It was a very sour note to fall asleep on, but everyone soon noticed his light snoring as he dozed off, pressed against the wall. Bob hoisted Buddy up and threw him on to the bed, but it didn't appear to affect the man's slumber. Agent Reeves motioned for them to follow him out of the room, and he cut off the light, shutting the door behind him, leaving Buddy sleeping seemingly peacefully.

But his sleep was not peaceful. Not in the least. After all, how can one sleep peacefully knowing that everyone around them hates their guts?


	9. Living A Boy's Adventure Tale

**9**

When Buddy woke up the next morning, he noticed something extremely different about the room. Apparently, it had been completely remodeled, with all the safety featured that had been mentioned. Worse yet, they had the nerve to strap him to the bed. He vainly tried to move, and instead decided that it would be best if he just didn't put up a really big fuss. The last thing he needed was more trouble. Alright, now was the best time to work out who would give him the most sympathy. He figured it just might be Violet, she did seem to at least have a little bit of compassion. 

"Violet!" he squeaked. His voice was raspy, and he noticed that his throat was hurting terribly. He coughed a little bit to clear the build up in his throat and tried to call again. "Violet!"

The door opened slightly, and Violet stepped in, looking slightly annoyed. "Do you want something, Syndrome?"

"Yeah, I want to know why everyone's calling me Syndrome," Buddy said, glaring at her. "I also want to know why I'm strapped to my bed. You know, when visitors come over, aren't they going to be slightly suspicious of all this?"

"We're calling you Syndrome because Agent Reeves suggested it's the best thing for us to do. You're strapped to the bed so you don't try to escape or do something completely foolish. Visitors won't be suspicious, because we've made up a story about how you're a psychotic patient that we volunteered to take care of. Was there anything else?" Violet said, smirking.

"I need water," he rasped. He wasn't pleased at anything he was hearing, but he could worry about that later. His stomach rumbled slightly, and he whimpered just a little bit. He could hardly move and it was irritating him terribly. "Do you mind -- undoing these straps? I promise I won't do anything bad."

She raised an eyebrow and came over, using a key to free him from the bed. He sat up and stretched, wincing as a wave of pain came over him. He groaned and yawned. "So, what am I supposed to do now? Do I get to have breakfast with everyone else, or am I going to be kept in this small bedroom for the rest of my life?"

Violet didn't answer immediately. She went out of the room and returned with a glass of water, and I handful of assorted colorful pills. "Wha'zat?" Buddy asked, taking the water from her and grabbing the pills. 

"The same prescription you had a while ago. Take it, and meet me in the kitchen when you're done. Mom has breakfast on the table, and if you don't hurry and get dressed, it's going to get cold, so go fast," Violet said, exiting. 

Buddy looked down at the pills. Quickly, he determined which one was the pain-killing one, and which ones were the anti-psychosis ones. He took the pain-killing pill and swallowed it, and hid the rest of them under his pillow. He looked around and wondered how the crews had gotten so much done in the room while he was asleep. Maybe they had given him some dose of tranquilizer at a point or something. It was going to be a horrible, horrible day. He decided he wasn't going to bother getting dressed until after breakfast, despite anything anyone else had to say. He didn't care about what other people had to say, really. After all, look what they were doing to him.

He grunted and stood up, making his way dizzily towards the door. He noticed that he was still in the same clothing he had been wearing yesterday, and it was starting to give off a bit of stink. He ignored it and opened the door, ignoring the little buzzing sound that went off, perhaps to alert them that he was coming out of his room. This would be extremely tough to get used to. He hoped they'd at least let him out of the house every once in a while. 

"Alright, so -- which way is the kitchen?" he thought aloud, looking both ways, trying to figure out which way he was going to go. He narrowed his eyes, threw up his hands and went to the left. If it didn't go to the kitchen, at least it would help him get more familiar with the layout of the house. He walked down the hall and peeked into different rooms on his way. He paused when he saw Jack-Jack's bedroom, the door half open. He looked inside to see the boy still asleep in bed.

_I will get your son eventually, I'll get your son!_

Buddy raised an eyebrow as the thought came flashing back. He flinched as he remembered struggling to crawl out of the jet turbine moments later, almost feeling the pain return as he thought of it sucking him into the whirring blades. He shook his head to clear all the bad thoughts away and walked into Jack-Jack's room, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder, and stroking it slightly. _My, my, he's grown. I'll bet he's ten times more powerful than he was as a baby, and that's saying something…_

"Mmmh?" Jack-Jack groaned, turning over and looking at Buddy through sparkling brown eyes. 

"Oh, sorry, kid, I didn't mean to wake you up," Buddy said, looking at the child. "I'll leave now, if you want me to -- which way is the kitchen?"

"Who're you?" the child murmured, staring the older man directly in the eyes. Jack-Jack felt a twinge of remembrance when he looked at Buddy's face, but he couldn't figure out where he would know him from.

"I'm just a guest, I'm staying with your parents, I'm sure they'll explain everything to you sometime later. Now, if you'll tell me the way to the kitchen, I'll go --"

"No need to," Jack-Jack said, sitting up in bed and rubbing 'sleepies' out of his eyes. "You can stay in here if you want, you look really sad -- is something wrong?"

Buddy shook his head. "No, no, nothing's wrong. So -- what's your name?" he asked, reaching out a hand to help the kid get out of bed.

"Jack," he replied. "But everyone calls me Jack-Jack or Jackie -- or something like that, but you can just go with Jack-Jack -- what's your name?"

"Sy -- Buddy. My name's Buddy."

Jack-Jack got up and walked to his closet. Buddy noted that the child had apparently slept in his clothing, which was rather odd. It reminded him of when he was a kid, and he used to sneak out a night, and come home completely exhausted, forgetting to change into pajamas. Part of him wondered if that's what the kid had done. Jack-Jack pulled some action figures and other assorted play-toys out of the closet and dragged them into the middle of the floor. He glanced briefly at a calendar he had hanging on the wall, and noted that it was Saturday, which naturally brought a large grin to his face.

"Want to play with me?" he asked.

Buddy looked surprised, but inside he was eager for two reasons. One: he really, really liked playing with action figures. Two: it just _might _be good to get to know Jack-Jack, just in case…

"Um, sure!" he exclaimed, sitting down on the floor. He smiled as the kid set up everything, pulling out transportation models, random sorts of civilian-esque dolls, and assorted superheroes. He bit his lip to keep from yelping in excitement. He loved playing games, and he hadn't in so long.

Jack-Jack held up a fairly large-sized toy jet-plane, making it 'soar' through the 'sky'. He placed it on chair to make it continue to stay up as he pulled out two other figures. One of them was that of an ordinary child, looking to be toddler age or maybe less, and the other was that of a shady-looking figure dressed in pure dark blue, wearing a black scalloped cape. He handed the latter to Buddy, and he examined it closely. 

"I get to play the villain?" he murmured, half-asking Jack-Jack, half talking to himself.

Jack-Jack nodded. "Yeah, if you don't mind, anyway. I like being the heroes and stuff."

"No, no, I don't mind at all. So, what kind of a setup have we got here?" Buddy asked, looking around at all the stuff. He felt oddly comfortable around Jack-Jack, as though the child was a younger sibling or something of the like.

"Alright, your villain needs to try to kidnap this kid and take it to the jet, but my superhero will try to stop you, okay?"

_That's way too familiar. This kid must either remember what happened that time, or his family has told him stories about it. That's just brilliant. I can just imagine them telling him about me. 'Jack-Jack, this is the man that tried to kidnap you. Hate him.' -- Life can be so cruel.._

"Okay, cool, that sounds simple enough!" Buddy said, trying to hide his utter dismay and the sense of impending doom he felt growing in his stomach. If Jack-Jack no longer trusted him, there was no way on Earth he could develop a relationship with the kid. So much for trying to kidnap him again -- it was going to be way too hard… Unless he could think of something and fast. He half-heartedly acted out his villain action figure grabbing the kid and flying towards the jet that was sitting on the chair. _Why, why, why? Of all the scenarios this kid could have chosen for us to act out, why the heck did it have to be this one?_

His heart went to his throat when Jack-Jack's hero character swooped up and grabbed the stolen toddler, knocking the villain into the jet turbine in the process. It sent shivers down his spine, along with making him cringe and murmur nonsense phrases to himself. Jack-Jack stared at him for a moment. "Alright, what do you want to do this time?" he asked Buddy, looking a little bit creeped out by the way the adult was acting.

Buddy managed to regain his senses and smiled crookedly. "Um, well, how about we put the town in peril and have a couple of heroes save it, how does that sound?" 

Jack-Jack laughed and started setting things back up. They continued to play, completely loosing track of time, totally focused on their imaginary world. Neither of them heard the door open, and three angry-looking people stepping into it, one of them holding a pistol of sorts. "Don't startle him, he might make a run for it," one of them whispered. Buddy was laughing as he turned around, excusing himself to go get a drink of water. His face fell immediately at he found himself staring directly at the gun.

"Oh -- snap.." He grunted.

"Mom? What's going on?" Jack-Jack asked, looking up.

Helen was glaring daggers at Buddy. "I'll explain later, Jack-Jack, you stay here. Did this man threaten you in any way? Did he get too close to you? Was he touching you in any way?"

"What do you think I am, a pedophile?!" gasped Buddy.

"Wouldn't be surprised," Helen growled.

Buddy sat there, mouth agape. Was it considered a crime just to be playing with a child? Even all thoughts of kidnapping the boy had been erased from his mind after a few minutes of interacting with him. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. Why hadn't he been a little more alert? He tried to push himself to his feet, but stopped when he heard a yell from Agent Reeves. 

"Don't move or I'll shoot!" he barked. 

"You'd actually shoot me?! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"_Mom_?" 

"Jack-Jack, be quiet!"

"Syndrome, you're coming with us!" Violet yelled.

"Stop calling me that!" Buddy snarled.

"Quiet or else!" Reeves threatened. 

"What's going _on_?" Jack-Jack whined.

"Just answer my questions, sweetie," Helen replied.

Buddy quickly shut his mouth, not daring to say another word. Reeves and Violet yanked him up and dragged him out the door, in the direction of the kitchen this time. Helen stayed behind to make sure no harm had come to her little boy. Violet jerked Buddy into one of the chairs and pushed it in until he was uncomfortably tight against the table. To his surprise, they pushed a plate of breakfast in front of him. He was expecting some sort of harsh punishment or something.

"Eh?"

"Eat it, now." Violet commanded.

"Sure thing!" Buddy said, piling eggs on his fork and shoving them into his mouth. He deeply hoped the food wasn't poisoned or something -- but it was so delicious that he wouldn't mind having it for a last meal. He hadn't eaten anything decent in the days before, and it was a relief to finally get something tasty. Agent Reeves and Violet watched carefully as he devoured everything in a hurry.

Helen came into the kitchen, hands on her hips. "Well, according to Jack-Jack, Syndrome wasn't doing anything inappropriate, but I'm still suspicious. Why were you in my son's room?" she asked.

"I was playing with him," Buddy said, his voice slightly muffled as he chewed and talked at the same time, much to the utter displeasure of everyone around who'd rather not see ground up foodstuffs in his mouth. "We had some of his toys out, and we just -- played!" Violet stepped back as scraps of eggs and bacon flew out of his mouth and landed on the floor next to her. He pushed the plate away and let out a soft burp. "My compliments to the chef."

"Thank you," Helen said dryly. "Playing with him, were you?"

"More like manipulating him," Violet grumbled.

"Violet, stay out of this for now. Syndrome, what ever possessed you to go in there to begin with?" Helen asked, still glaring at him.

".. I couldn't find the kitchen, and I ended up going in the wrong direction. I saw the kid was asleep, and just -- touched him -- not inappropriately, of course! I'd **never **to that. I am in no way attracted to little kids like _that_. Ew, no, blah! Yuck! Not in a million years would I ever --"

"You've made your point!" Agent Reeves said, rolling his eyes. "Nonetheless, we're going to have to not only talk to the boy a little more in depth, and warn him about you. Also, we're going to have to keep you under stricter surveillance." 

"_Stricter_?" Buddy said, hardly believing it. As if everything they had done already wasn't strict enough, and all because he had played with their kid! Not to mention, he knew for a fact that if Jack-Jack didn't like what he was doing, he'd put up one heck of a fight, using his extreme powers. "But I didn't do anything bad! I didn't hurt him, I didn't sexually harass him, and I didn't try to manipulate him! Honest! Cross my heart and hope to -- die."

Violet raised an eyebrow. "Well, Agent Reeves, I don't think he's lying, maybe you could go a little easier on him --" She was truly amused by Buddy's reactions. He was so adorable at times, especially when he was extremely upset and/or stressed out. Both Agent Reeves and Helen didn't look like they particularly wanted to go easier on him, but eventually they relaxed.

Reeves sighed. "Alright, we won't up security -- unless this happens again."

"You mean I can't play with the kid again?"

All three of them shook their heads. "No."

"Darn it! It was just getting good! The helicopter was about to come down onto the town and Mega-guy was just about to save everyone and -- I never get to have any fun," Buddy said, pouting.

"Oh, don't worry, we'll make sure you have plenty of fun starting Monday," Violet assured him.

"You're not going to make me go out in an orange jumpsuit and pick trash up off the sides of highways, are you?" Buddy asked, hoping deeply that that wasn't what they were planning.

"_Maybe_, or maybe _not_. You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? Relax, it's nothing bad. It'd be hard to reform you with only negative reinforcement, wouldn't it?" 

"Guess so."

"Alright, well, you'd best go get dressed in something different -- and maybe take a shower, you smell terrible." Violet suggested.

Buddy pushed his chair back and stood up, heading towards his bedroom. Maybe things wouldn't be as bad as he had thought they would be. Still though, he didn't think he needed to go through any of this stuff. He was slight disappointed that he wasn't going to get to play with Jack-Jack again, but there were always different things to do. He opened the door and looked around, sighing at all the security equipment. It really wouldn't be hard to disable all of it, though, but he'd get around to that later. First, he had to take a shower. Violet was right -- he really didn't smell so good. 


	10. Dark Is The Night For All

**10**

"Syndrome, you're getting water everywhere! Why didn't you dry your hair out?" Helen yelled, chasing after him with a rolled up magazine in her hand. Buddy bounced around the house, trying to avoid being smacked. He rounded corners so fast that he almost slipped and fell. It was hard to run when one was only wearing socks on their feet. He turned back behind him, panting heavily.

"You wouldn't give me a hairdryer! You said it was too dangerous! It's your fault, don't whack me with that! That's a huge catalogue you've got there, lady -- and it's not even near Christmas!" he gasped, increasing his pace as he entered the living room once again. He dodged a blow from Helen as she used her elastic powers to increase the length of her arm. He chortled, almost enjoying the trouble he was making. He ran back into the hallway, and to his surprise, smacked into something, and fell onto the ground.

"Did I hit a glass door or something?" he asked, rubbing his face and trying to stand up. Violet appeared in front of him, and Helen came behind and started whacking him with the newspaper. "No, you hit my force field," Violet sighed. "What are you two doing? For a moment I thought he was trying to escape -- but then you two just kept going around in circles."

"She's hitting me because she wouldn't give me a hairdryer!" Buddy yelped, doing his best to avoid being smacked any further.

"He got water on my hardwood floor." Helen said gruffly, giving him a final tap on the head with her magazine. He stared at her in amusement and pushed himself to his feet. "Alright, that was fun, but I'm getting _so _bored. What are we going to do next?"

"You're so immature," Violet grunted. "I've got to go now, mom. I signed up for a volunteer job and I've got to be there in about ten minutes. Good luck with the nutcase."

".. You referring to me?" Buddy asked, his mouth twisting into a crooked smile. "I'm no more of a nutcase than you are. I'm seriously bored, though. Can I watch television?"

Violet grabbed her purse and walked out the door without another word. Helen glared at Buddy and set the magazine down on a nearby coffee table. "As long as 'watch television' does not mean 'take apart television piece by piece to see how it works'." She rumbled, going back to the kitchen to work.

"Don't worry! I already know how a television works, so I don't need to take it apart!" he assured, holding up one hand and grinning. As soon as he turned away, he abruptly stopped smiling, and walked stiffly towards the living room, a look of pure hate shining in his eyes. He sat down hard on the couch and pressed the remote buttons harder than need be. There was nothing good on, like always, so he simply flipped to the news and pretended to watch. However, in his mind he was working out how he would escape. He did not want to stay any longer, pretending to be pleasant in the presence of his enemies.

Stupidity seemed to be the only way to hide his scheming mind. If he acted like he was some fool who didn't know left from right, they could never tell if he was up to something. He felt pressure on the couch next to him and woodenly turned his head to face whoever had the audacity to sit so close to him. The anger on his face was replaced with a faux look of cheeriness, which almost faded as soon as he saw that he was looking at Agent Reeves.

"Hello, Mr. Reeves," he said, doing his best to keep his words matching his expression, and not his inner feelings. "Is there something that you want to watch? I could change the channel for you."

"You're looking unusually happy, Syndrome," Reeves said, eyeing Buddy suspiciously, and flinching uncomfortably, as though he expected the man's mood to suddenly turn dark. "Yes, there is something that I want to watch. Could you turn to channel 20?"

Buddy picked up the remote and flicked through channels casually, until he came to the one that Reeves had wanted to watch. "A _Disney _musical animated movie?" he said, turning to Agent Reeves with a puzzled look on his face. "I had no idea you actually liked things like that. You don't seem like an animated feature sort of guy."

"Well, they bring back memories, and lighten up my mood a bit. Oh, I think you'll like this one, Syndrome!" Reeves said, gazing at the television, looking rather childlike as his dark eyes sparkled.

"_The Jungle Book_? Exactly _why _would I like this one, might I ask?" Buddy asked. No reply came, for Agent Reeves had become engrossed in watching the movie. Buddy glared at him and got up off the couch, going to the kitchen in search of a snack. The smell of cookies hung in the air, which made his stomach growl. He gently tapped Helen on the shoulder, and ducked, just in case she decided to whirl around and hit him.

"Syndrome, what are you doing?" she asked. "If it's a cookie you want, you're not going to get one. These are for a bake sale, not for anyone in this family unless you wish to purchase one."

".. I apologize for getting water on your floor."

"That's not going to get you a cookie."

"Darn it."

He paused for a second, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "I'm hungry, though. Can't I have a snack?"

Helen sighed and pointed to the refrigerator. "Grab yourself something from there, but don't eat too much, it's almost dinner time, and you shouldn't spoil your appetite."

"Yes, _mom_," sniggered Buddy, opening the fridge and peering inside. There wasn't much that appealed to him inside, but after digging around a while, he pulled out an unopened package of cheese sticks. He held it up triumphantly and turned to Helen. "Can I have these?"

"All of them?"

"Yep!"

".. So much for not ruining your appetite.."

He retreated back into his bedroom with his snack. Hopefully, he'd have enough peace in there to think. He crawled onto his bed with one of the cheese sticks in his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully and rolling over so he could stare at the ceiling. He had an excellent plan for escape in his head, but he wasn't sure if it would work or not. There would be a few things he needed, but didn't know where to get them from. He also had to check and see if his bathroom had a window, as he didn't notice if there was one last time. He got up and walked to his bathroom, opening the door and looking back and forth.

He caught a glimpse of a small, high window, with bars running across it. That would be one of the hardest things to escape through, but he might have to go for it. But first, there were a few other things he needed. He exited the bathroom and started looking for his other pair of pants. He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out a wallet. He smiled and grabbed a handful of bills from it, and rushed out of the room, heading towards the kitchen again, once again trying to look as pleasant as possible.

"Ms. Helen, ma'am!" he called.

"What is it? If you're after a cookie again I'm going to hit you with the magazine --" Helen said in a low, threatening tone of voice.

"No, no, I don't want a cookie, I want to take art lessons!"

".. You're kidding, right?"

"Nope! I want to be a sculptor! I could even pay for it myself!" he exclaimed, waving the money in the air.

"If you're serious about this, I'll talk about it with Agent Reeves. I'm sure he'd be fine with you getting a hobby, especially a creative one like this one. Where is he, anyway?"

Buddy took in a deep breath, trying not to laugh. "He's watching '_The Jungle Book_'," he said, biting his lip immediately afterward and chuckling to himself. "I could fetch him for you, if you want me to."

Helen simply nodded and went back to cooking for a moment, then she stopped suddenly, and turned around slightly in his direction. "Where'd you get that money, anyway?" she asked.

"I'm rich," he replied simply. He ran into the living room, noticing that Reeves still seemed to be in a trancelike state. Buddy sighed and grumbled, walking up to the NSA agent and waving his hand in front of the man's face. There was no response for a second, and then Reeves pushed Buddy's hand away and grunted.

"Agent Reeves, can I take art lessons?"

"Eh, sure, whatever."

"M'kay!" Buddy said with a huge smile on his face. If his plan worked out, he'd be free in no time. All he needed to know was how to sculpt a life-like statue of himself. He stood, thinking for a second, and suddenly spotted Agent Reeves' pistol out of the corner of his eye. He gently reached over and slid it out from the agent's coat, and put it into his own pocket. Reeves didn't even flinch, he just kept watching television. This was certainly a bonus. If anything went wrong, he'd just shoot.

"Give it back, Syndrome." Reeves growled all of the sudden.

Buddy froze, biting his lip. He turned around quickly, and all in one motion, shot Agent Reeves in the head, jammed the pistol into the agent's own hand, and called for help. "Oh my gosh, he just committed suicide!" Buddy gasped, assuming a dramatic pose, his hand on his forehead. "Quick, Mrs. Parr, get over here! I fear something absolutely terrible has happened! Help, help, help!" He couldn't help the sarcastic edge that found it's way to his words, but Helen didn't seem to notice as she came rushing into the room.

"What happened?! Why'd he do this?" she asked, grabbing the phone to dial for an ambulance.

"He just said 'life's not worth living' and shot himself, it was absolutely _dreadful_!" Buddy exclaimed, jumping around and trying to make an even bigger deal out of it. "What will we _ever _do without brave Agent Reeves around!?"

Helen glared at him in a 'shut up, this is serious' sort of way, and dialed 911. Buddy smirked and scampered back to his room, attempting to wipe splatters of blood off of his clean shirt. "Ugh, these will never come out," he grumbled. He hoped everyone would be stupid enough to continue believing that Agent Reeves had shot himself. He also hoped there hadn't been any security cameras in the room at the time. If there had been, it'd mean a heck of a lot of trouble of him. "Maybe I should have just given him his gun back. Ah, well, what's the worst thing they can do to me, anyway? I've already killed so many people, it's not like another one makes a difference. It's just less trash in the world, s'all."

He found another shirt to change into and did so. He heard a lot of commotion outside as the ambulance arrived, and paramedics entered the house, along with police. He scanned the hallway to make sure it was clear of any people before he walked out of his room to watch everything. Helen was distraught, but obviously more because blood was on her couch than the fact that Agent Reeves had 'killed himself.' "Syndrome, get over here and help me wipe some of this up," she said with a slight cough. "Then, after you're done with that, go with the police. They want to ask you some questions since you're the only witness."

Buddy narrowed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was go with the police. "Do I have to?" he asked.

"Yes."

_Oh, this is just brilliant. I've got to think of an easy way to get out of this…_

"Oh! My poor stomach!" he gasped, falling onto his knees suddenly, and clutching at his abdomen. "Ack! The pain, the terrible pain! Quick! I need a doctor!"

Helen glared at him. "Did you do something wrong, Syndrome?"

"No. What makes you think that?"

"You're trying to get out of going to see the police."

"I don't like police officers."

"They're your friends."

"That's what _you _think, _Elastigirl_."

"Get off of your lazy bottom and go with the police, and no more excuses about your stomach hurting or something like that. Don't call me Elastigirl, either. You could jeopardize the well being of not only yourself but everyone around you!" she snapped, smacking him on the cheek firmly. To her surprise, he didn't even flinch, he simply glared at her.

".. You call me Syndrome, so it's only fair that I get to call you by your alter ego name, too." He grumbled, itching the side of his nose and using the coffee table to help himself get up. "So you can either call me 'Buddy' or 'Terry', or I can call you 'Elastigirl', your choice."

The police were waiting impatiently for Buddy to come with them. He sighed and prepared himself to do some heavy-duty lying. They grabbed him by the shoulder and led him out to their vehicle. They sat him down in the back seat and closed the door firmly, before climbing into the front seat. The car smelled rather old, and the leather seats squeaked when Buddy moved. He leaned back, closing his eyes, his mind wandering back to a scene from many, many years ago.

"_I can help you, you're making a mistake!"_

A sudden rush of rage came back, and Buddy clenched his fists.

"_You mean he got away?" a policeman asked._

"_Well, yeah, Skippy here made sure of that." Mr. Incredible growled, gesturing towards Buddy who was sitting inside of the police car, arms folded across his chest._

"_Incrediboy!" he snapped, glaring in his former hero's direction._

"_You're not affiliated with me!"_

Buddy wiped his nose on his sleeve and sighed. "I don't even know who I am anymore. I'll just -- attempt to figure it out. Let's see -- Incrediboy? Absolutely not. Buddy? I doubt it. Terry? Not at all, never really was, never really will be. Syndrome?" he paused and thoughtfully looked out the window for a moment before answering himself. "Most likely.."

--X--

Violet arrived at her parent's house on her motor scooter, sighing as she looked towards the door. She wanted to go back to her own apartment, but her mom had insisted she stay just for the first few days that Syndrome was around. She parked her bike, unstrapped her helmet, and walked up the path to the door. She rang the doorbell and pushed a strand of her black hair out of her face.

Her mom opened the door with a grunt. "You wouldn't believe what happened today."

"Why is there blood all over the place?!" gasped Violet. "What happened?"

Helen rubbed her temples and motioned for Violet to sit down. "According to Syndrome, Agent Reeves committed suicide. He's currently at the police station being asked a few questions. The NSA phoned me and said they'd send over a team of agents in Reeves' place, and they'll be over any time now. Could you help me straighten things up a bit?"

Violet nodded, going to the kitchen to get a wet rag, and trying to think of ways to remove blood stains from fabric and carpet. "Let me see, was it ammonia and detergent? I think it is.." She grabbed the rag, dampened it, and went to the laundry room to look for detergent and then to the pantry to look for ammonia. She returned to the living room and got down on her knees so that she could clean up splatters. As the blood transferred from the carpet to the rag, she thought about Agent Reeves. There was no reason for him to commit suicide, was there? He looked pleasant enough, not at all depressed, unless he was extremely good at hiding it.

Helen grabbed another rag and dipped it into the ammonia/water/detergent solution and scrubbed the couch with it.

"So, Syndrome was the only one who witnessed the event, was he?" Violet asked. Helen turned to her and nodded before going back to scrubbing.

"I don't believe Agent Reeves committed suicide," Violet continued. "I think Syndrome killed him."

"Agreed. He should know better than to try to pull the wool over our eyes. It was obvious to me, and the police, that it was his doing. He was acting fidgety, and you could tell that he was lying."

"Why hasn't he grown up yet? How old is he now, thirty-five years or something? Why does he act so immature?" Violet breathed.

"I'm guessing it's his was of coping with things. He's had a lot happen to him. He missed out on ten years of his life, and he'll never get those ten years back. In that time, he could have matured, but because of the memory wiping, he thought he was someone else. When he learned he _wasn't _someone else, he went back to being who he was before his stay in the NSA's psychiatric hospital." Helen answered.

"He missed out on way more than ten years of his life, from what I know. He's probably missed out on about twenty-five years of his entire life. He was about -- ten when he tried to become dad's sidekick, right?" Violet asked, rubbing down hard on a particularly annoying stain.

"Yes. You're right about that, too, Violet. Revenge consumed his entire life, and he knows it. That's why he acts immature. He could also be acting immature to hide the fact that he's angry, or to hide the fact that he's plotting something. I'm willing to bet it's for all of those reasons."

"Is that why he does particularly annoying things, too?"

"Well, Violet, as you know, he, like most villains, is an attention-seeker. He'll do anything for attention, because he thrives on it. It could be positive or negative attention, he'll take it either way. By doing annoying or destructive things, he gains the attention of everyone around him, and that makes him feel good."

"Why can't he just do something productive and earn attention that way?"

"He could, but he probably doesn't feel motivated to. Tearing things apart is easier for him than building things up." Helen said, reaching over to help Violet with the tough stain.

"Thanks for the explanation, mom. I'm going to have a talk with him when he gets back."


	11. Just Like Clockwork

**11**

It was pitch black outside, save for the dim streetlights that made a slight glow. There were assorted creaking noises as dark figures walked down the docks, but they were all drowned out by the sound of the waves. In the typical villain fashion, a meeting had been called in one of the old warehouses that no one used. They all knew that there was at least _one _abandoned warehouse at every dock. Once inside, they all took their places at a small table, and began talking amongst themselves. There were five of them, two of them were women, one with long platinum blonde hair, and the other with short black hair. The other three were male, one of them was a short male with dirt streaked across his cheeks, another was a lanky, sophisticated-looking man with slicked back hair, the last was one with blonde hair who spoke in a harsh accent.

"We have all their information, thanks to an outside source, now what are we going to do with it?" the sophisticated man said.

The blonde woman spoke up, "you could have gotten the information from _me_, you know."

"You already had your chance, dear."

"If the computer didn't have a password that changed every five seconds --" she argued.

"Quiet now, we have the information, we just need to figure out how we're going to go about getting revenge," hissed the sophisticated man.

"Stupid Brit," snorted the black-haired lady.

"I beg your pardon…"

"Shut up, both of you!" growled the harsh-accented man. "Ve have a task at hand!"

"We could blow them up, it wouldn't take much," the black-haired lady suggested, pulling a small round device out of pocket on her belt.

"That's no fun at all, Bomb Jour, that's not the traditional style," the sophisticated man sneered.

"Oh, what do you know, Xerek?" she sniffed, looking at him with disdain. "I suppose you have a _better _suggestion?"

"Not at the moment, but I'll think of one," he replied, glaring at her. "Mirage, Ruthless, Earthworm, what about you?"

"How about an elaborate death trap vith crocodiles!" suggested Baron von Ruthless Jr. "It vould be totally awesome!"

Earthworm piped up, "but instead of crocodiles, how about giant killer worms?!"

"Giant killer exploding worms-crocodile hybrids!" Bomb Jour exclaimed sarcastically.

"Ya, ya!" agreed Ruthless Jr.

"Either you're not good at detecting sarcasm, or you're stupid," Bomb Jour spat.

"I'd say all of the above," Mirage sighed, laying her head on the table wearily. "So, who was this outside source, Xerek?"

"He didn't give me his name, but he was a 'ginger' with light blue eyes -- he wouldn't stop yammering on about revenge and all sorts of nonsense," Xerek replied. "He launched into a monologue of sorts, and was still talking after I left. I injected him with a nice little homing chip while he wasn't paying attention, just in case I needed him later."

"He sounds rather familiar, I used to know someone like that. I thought he was amazing, until I found out that he could care less about my safety," Mirage hissed, jerking up from her tired position immediately. "And after all I had done for him, too! He's dead, now, though, he died in an airplane-related accident. I'm almost glad he did. A heartless man like that doesn't deserve to live."

"Mirage, dear, why on Earth did you stick with your villainous career? You strike me as a rather nice woman, and we all know you're fond of children," Xerek asked, narrowing his eyes just a tad.

Mirage knew he was waiting for her to slip up so that he could call her a traitor or something of the like. "It's an addiction, I suppose," she replied coolly. "As they say, a leopard cannot change it's spots. I suppose it's the only thing I _can _do now, if you know what I mean. Now, why don't you all continue to brainstorm?"

"I still say we should just blow them up!" Bomb Jour barked. "It's simple, quick, easy, and we'll be rid of them forever!"

"Quit your yapping," Earthworm grunted. "You women never shut up."

"_Excusez-moi_! Take that back, you little rat!" she yelled, threatening to push the small red button on her mini-bomb.

"Don't do zat, you vill blow us all to bits!" Ruthless Jr. exclaimed, trying to snatch the bomb away from Bomb Jour. He snatched it from her, and threw it out the window. There was an explosion only seconds later, and everyone glared at him. "Vhat?"

"Brilliant show, moron," Xerek grumbled. "Alright, everyone, let's get out of here before the police arrive!"

Everyone immediately got up from their seats and rushed out every single exit. Mirage and Xerek went through the back door, Bomb Jour blew a hole through the wall and exited that way, Earthworm tunneled underground, and Ruthless Jr. was left wondering whether he should go through the roof or the windows.

"Vait for me, guys!" he yelled, looking around frantically. He finally decided to jump out a window, and landed head over heels on the ground outside, rolling directly off the dock and falling into the water.

The sound of sirens was in the air, and a superhero or two decided to investigate the scene of the blast. Of course, when they all arrived, the criminals had scattered, and there wasn't a trace or a clue.

--

"Hey, hey! You know what I've always wanted to do?!"

"Buddy.."

Violet had been him around all morning trying to talk to him. He did everything he could to avoid talking about the incident the day before. He darted into the living room and sat down on the couch, a grin on his face. Violet rolled her eyes and sat down next to him. "Alright, what is it that you've always wanted to do?"

"Okay, okay, this is going to sound a little silly, but -- I've always wanted to build a robot copy of myself, make it take over Disneyland, and rename the place 'Syndromeland' or something like that, for no reason _whatsoever_!"

".. Um.."

"I mean, it'd be so cool! I'll have my own theme park, and everything will be themed after me, and it'll be _my _version of the 'happiest place on earth'. Oh, oh! I also want to learn how to ice skate!"

"Why?"

"I have no idea!"

Violet stared at him for a moment before sighing. "There's something wrong with you," she murmured.

".. Nuh-uh," he argued, folding his arms across his chest.

"You're not really this immature, are you?" she asked.

He stared hard at her for a moment, before dismissing her question with a wave of his hand. "Yeah-eh, whatever," he said. "So, when can I go out of the house and do…"

Buddy turned around slowly, and yelped as he saw a tough looking female NSA agent behind him. "Whathefoo?!" he gasped. "What are you doing behind the couch?!"

The agent vanished from his view, leaving him puzzled for a second. "My god, she pulled a Houdini -- oh.." The agent materialized in front of him, and he sneered.

"Supers," he groaned.

"Who are you?" Violet asked the female agent.

"I am Ms. Mystica," she answered, keeping her back to Violet, and staring down Buddy. "I am one of the agents in charge of keeping Mr. Pine here in line…"

"Oh, wow, you're not calling me Syndrome! It's like -- it's like -- a _miracle_," he said with a fake and rather sarcastic look of bewildered amazement.

"That was a stupid thing of Agent Reeves to suggest," Mystica growled. "If you're going to be reformed into a normal citizen, we can't be calling you by your supervillain name, that's completely idiotic!"

"You go girl!" Buddy exclaimed.

"Shut up." Mystica said flatly. "I suggest you don't mess with me. I'm not a pushover like the other agents are."

Buddy sunk back a little into the couch and nodded quickly. Violet got up from her seat, shaking her head. "Am I ever going to get to have a conversation with you?" she said, half asking Buddy, half taking to herself.

"I've got to get back to my apartment now," she added, fully addressing everyone in the room this time. "See you later!"

"Wait -- oh -- okay, bye!" said Buddy with a slight wave. He turned to Mystica and sighed, mumbling unkind words under his breath.

"Do you feel suicidal?" Mystica asked, all of the sudden.

_Oh for the love of all things, not this again. _

"Well, put it this way, I feel very low in myself. I can't see much in the future, and I feel that any second something terrible is going to happen to me," he said with a slight snicker. He was quoting a movie he had watched once, sometime during his stay at the psychiatric hospital. He was actually surprised he had been allowed to watch it, due to some of the objectionable content it had.

"Is that so, _Alex_?" Mystica said, clearly not amused. "Do you feel homicidal?"

".. Why, yes, yes I do! In fact, you know who I'd really like to bump off right now?" he said, standing up as he spoke.

"Who?"

"You." He said, slamming his fist into her jaw while kicking her in the gut. He narrowed his eyes, his face twitching as he watched her fall to the ground in a heap. Buddy smirked and started to walk away, when he felt someone grab his leg. He was pulled onto the ground, and the wind was knocked out of him.

"Ugh!" he exclaimed.

Mystica had pulled him down, and drawn a gun out of her pocket. She pointed it at him, but he just smiled.

"Go on, kill me," he dared. "Or do you have some reason not to?"

He slowly pushed himself to his feet whilst he was talking. "You've all done everything in your power to keep me alive for this long, and I doubt you'd kill me now after all that," he chuckled. "I mean, it'd be a lot of time and money wasted, you know. What do you all want me for, anyway? Why must I be _reformed_? If you think you're going to turn me 'good', just so that you can use me, you've got another thing coming."

He grabbed Mystica's wrist and twisted it until she dropped the gun on the ground. He let go, and before she could stoop to get it, he picked it up. He pressed the gun to her head, smiling like the cat who ate the canary all the while. "Now I suggest you tell me all about the wonderful plans the NSA has, or had, for me, before I blow your brains out," he threatened.

She stared at him with malice. "Alright, I'll tell you," she hissed. "The government has an interest in your _talents_. You, whether you know it or not, have changed the world with your inventions and weaponry. After your accident, the army confiscated all of your blueprints and plans --"

"By confiscated, you mean stole? I worked hard on those, you know, harder than you can ever imagine," he growled through his teeth, his trigger finger tightening.

"Please, let me continue," she said with a sigh. "After running through those prints and plans, they knew that you were something special. You were more dead than alive when they came across your body in the wreckage of your aerocraft, and of course, they had to work very hard to rebuild certain - losses on your part, I guess I should say…"

"As in, it took cybernetic technology, plastic surgery, and a miracle?"

"Yes, pretty much. You were in terrible shape, as I recall, and it took you quite a while to come conscious after the ordeal. Before you did, however, your memory was wiped - or at least, we thought it had been. Seeing as you remember your past quite clearly now, my guess is that the procedure was not done thoroughly enough. They later admitted you into the psychiatric hospital, because you were in even worse shape when it came to mental health. You were blabbering on like a madman for the longest time. Not too long before you escaped, we noticed that our treatments had become less effective. We were impressed when you broke out and actually got past the gates."

"We tracked you, of course," she continued. "We were shocked to find that the first person you came across was the daughter of your arch nemesis, Mr. Incredible. After a while, we weren't able to track you anymore, until recently, after you caused a stir at the young lady's apartment. Those were the events that led up to now. The reason you're still alive is because the government wants you to work for them, designing weapons, and all sorts of other kinds of technology."

The gun fell out of Buddy's hand and fell onto the ground. He stood staring blankly for a moment, but a blow to the side of his face jolted him from his thinking. Mystica grabbed her gun and put it back into her holster. "I'm probably going to be fired for telling you all that, but you know what, I could care less." She growled, folding her arms across her chest. She pulled out a pair of ultra-cuffs, pulled his arms behind his back, and snapped the cuffs in place, inserting her keycard to activate them. They automatically adjusted to the size of his forearms, and locked shut.

Buddy breathed. "Why did you send me to the Parr family to be rehabilitated?" he asked.

"We figured if you were going to learn to tolerate everyone, you'd first have to learn to tolerate your enemies. It was a spur-of-the-moment plan," she explained, yanking him to his feet.

"What now?"

"Due to your violent behavior and the fact that you threatened me with a weapon, I'm going to have to put you on complete lock down in your room," she said, proceeding to lead him down the hallway.

"You know, I had everything figured out before you told me." He said, in a boasting manner.

"I believe that." Mystica said simply.

--

Strapped to his bed, Buddy stared up at the ceiling. He was proud of himself for having accurately guessed the plan before he was told of it. An irritable itch on his nose was bothering him, and he couldn't scratch it, and it was driving him crazy. "Eeeauggh!" he growled in a frustrated way, writhing around and drying to rub his nose against his sleeve. "This is inhumane! Torture, I say, torture!" He wiggled around some more before giving up out of pure exasperation.

All of the sudden, there was an explosion, and the wall next to him tumbled down. He yelped, surprised and somewhat annoyed at the same time. "You -- you broke my wall!" he whined. "Now what'll I do at night? I'll freeze to death!"

"Shut up, moron," came a French-accented grunt. Bomb Jour came in through the smoke and quickly cut the straps that held Buddy down. She pulled him up by his wrist and tugged him outside through the hole. He panted, they were running faster than he had run in a while. There was a helicopter waiting outside and she shoved him into it.

"Yay! I'm being kidnapped!" he exclaimed, eagerly sitting down and fastening his seatbelt as the pilot took off.

"You look awfully like Bomb Voyage," Buddy pointed after the initial excitement died down.

"I'm his daughter," Bomb Jour sniffed.

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"So, _why _am I being kidnapped?"

"You were the one who sold the identities of the superhero family 'The Incredibles', along with several others to a man called Xerek, no?"

"Why, yes, yes I did! What of it?"

"We figured we'd need you again, so we came after you." She answered.

"Oh, that's interesting. How'd you find me?"

She pulled out a dagger and dug it into his arm. He let out a yell of pain, and she pulled out a small little beeping device. "We used a homing device."

"Say it, don't flay it!" he whimpered, looking at the cut in his arm. "Well, I'm glad to know I'm needed somewhere."

"What's your name?" Bomb Jour asked.

"Ahm -- ah -- which name?"

"You have -- more than one? In other words, you've been a supervillain or superhero -- or something?" she asked.

"Um -- I suppose you could say I've been both!"

"Well, just tell me your super-whatever name, then," she sighed.

"I'm Syndrome," he said. "What's your name?"

She paused for a moment. "That sounds vaguely familiar," she murmured. "I'm Bomb Jour, nice to --"

"Bomb Jour! HA! That's clever! It's like bonjour, and you're French, and -- stuff," he interrupted.

"You think?" she grunted, "well, it's nice meeting you, Syndrome."

"Where are we going?"

"To an island in the Caribbean," she replied.

"I had an island once!"

".. Hooray for you.."

Bomb Jour rolled her eyes and grunted. Why on Earth did Xerek think this guy was even remotely capable of helping them with _anything_?

* * *

**Hooray for actually getting around to the villains of the story! Be sure to review, m'kay?**

**:D**


	12. Dying To Live Again

**12**

_Eight months later…_

Lights from the television flickered on and off as Violet slept peacefully on her couch. Her left arm was draped to the side, and she still held the remote in it. Occasionally she'd grunt and squirm a little bit, subconsciously trying to get comfortable on the lumpy piece of furniture. She hadn't cleaned her apartment in a while, she'd been much too busy with hero work. Crumbs of snack food were on the floor, and there was a glass with an inch of milk left in it on the coffee table. Once again, she'd drifted off whilst watching the evening news, exhausted by both her alter ego's job, and her own job.

_Back to you, Marian. Our news team has been following the story of the search for the notorious former criminal, Syndrome, who was responsible for the near-total destruction of Metropolis around ten years back. As most of you viewers may know, the government was attempting to reform the supervillain when he went missing around eight months ago from the house of the family who had allegedly volunteered to help with the reformation. The wall had been found with a hole in it, and there wasn't a clue to follow. Here is a clip from our most recent review with the person in charge of the search, Agent Jack Cautz of the National Supers Agency:_

"_Mr. Cautz, do you believe that there is any chance Syndrome may still be alive?"_

"_I really don't think we're going to find him alive. He's been missing for eight months without a trace, and as I stated in a previous interview, he had a lot of people who were out to get him for one reason or another. I think it's high time we stop searching the streets, and begin combing the lakes."_

Violet awoke from her sleep upon hearing the news reporter mention 'Syndrome.' She'd been distraught ever since he had gone missing. It didn't help that the NSA believed him to be dead, in fact, that made things all the worse. They'd been talking about it at the headquarters all the day long, and every time she heard talk of it, she grew sick to her stomach immediately. After all Syndrome had done to both her, her family, and everyone else, she figured she wouldn't care whether he was dead or alive, but somehow, she did. She knew why, too, it was because secretly, she loved him.

"Combing the lakes?" she groaned wearily.

_Even I believe he's dead now. They would have found him if he were still alive. They've searched everywhere they could think of searching, _she thought.

She glanced at the digital clock in the kitchen. It was 3:39 AM, and her stomach was rumbling. She pushed herself up and went to grab something out of the cabinets, her body racking with sobs as she pulled out a bowl and a box of cereal. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with a napkin. It was foolish to cry over it, she never really cried over anything, anyway. "He'll be back," she told herself. "He came back last time…"

--

Elsewhere, Syndrome was most certainly alive, and enjoying his alive-ness at that! He had completely rebuilt his utility gauntlets, complete with the zero-point energy powered Imobi-Rays. Just the other day he had seen the underground supervillain costume designer, Madame Leroux, who promised she'd design him a costume ten times better than the one had had before. He had grown to love (or at least get along with) the other supervillains on Xerek's grand island. Unfortunately, from the very moment Mirage caught a glimpse of him, she hadn't spoke a word to him, not for eight long months.

.. Or at least, she hadn't spoke a word to him _directly_. What she did was something like this:

"Bomb Jour, do you mind telling Syndrome to shut up and pass the salt packets?"

"Earthworm, would you be a dear and tell that son of a bastard to stop leaving his dirty laundry in the hallway?"

"Ruthless, go tell Syndrome that his robo-dog made a mess on the carpet again, and that he needs to clean it up. No, I didn't think they could either."

"Xerek, can I murder that egotistical nitwit, just this once?"

Syndrome looked up as the door to his room opened. Ruthless Jr. was standing there, looking rather battered. "Mirage told me to tell you to tell Bomb Jour to stop trying to blow me up," he wheezed before collapsing.

"Tell her to go jump off something really high," snorted Syndrome in reply. "And get up off my floor, you're getting soot everywhere! What is wrong with you?!"

He used his zero point energy to lift the other supervillain off the floor and throw him out the open window. There was a yell and a thud, and Syndrome gave a curt, satisfied nod before going back to work on his latest super weapon. He was just as aggressive as ever, only this time he could freely show it instead of masking it under a carefree, moronic display. He was half-listening to the report on the radio, which happened to concern him.

"So, they think I'm dead? Surprising, but it'll work out fine," he murmured, picking up a screwdriver and fixing a panel into place. "This time, I won't make the same mistakes. This time, there'll be _no one _to stop me."

He picked up the gun in one swift motion and fired it at the door to his bedroom. Immediately, it broke apart, and the small pieces fell onto the floor in a heap. Syndrome looked on with manic delight, letting out a chortle of excitement. Now, he just had to come up with a nice name for it. He pulled out a pad of paper and began writing down choices:

_Matter Disintegration Ray 2000_

_Sonic Blast Modulator_

_Blasty-Ray… thing…_

…_-angry scribbles-_

"How hard can it be to name a simple ray gun?!" he growled. "Okay, screw it, I'll refer to it as 'the gun that can rip your guts out using the power of sound'."

He continued working until he caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective metal and gasped, letting the screw driver fall onto the floor. Dark red-ish lines were appearing all over his face, like scars of some sort, twisting and curving in every direction. He touched his face with his hand and a creamy pale substance wiped off onto the fingers of his glove.

".. That's a bit strange," he mumbled, drawing the substance towards his nose. "Smells like the DuraCream I invented around fifteen years ago."

He paused.

"Those thieving -- little -- augh! Oh, gosh, I look terrible!" he yelled, his chair toppling over as he rushed to get to his bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror and grabbed a washcloth, taking off his mask and rubbing the remaining bit of cream off of his face. His face looked as though it had been ripped and torn, then stitched up again. Trembling, he rolled up his sleeves and saw that the exact same thing was happening to his arms, and scars were appearing as the cream melted away. He let out a loud yell of surprise.

"Syndrome, are you quite alright in there?" came Xerek's voice from outside the bathroom door.

"Go away!" Syndrome screeched, locking the door in a hurry. "Leave me alone!"

"Terribly sorry," Xerek apologized. "Should I get you a laxative?"

Syndrome would have laughed at that had he not been in such shock. "I'm not constipated!" he squeaked.

"Really, now? because you sound as though you are --"

"I'm not, leave me alone! I'm -- having a sort of crisis or something --"

".. Is it a 'mid-life' crisis by any chance? A little gray isn't going to do you any harm. You can always dye it out, you know."

"Gah! No!"

"Is it thinning, then? Never would have imagined that, your hair being as thick as it is --" Xerek said, tilting his head, wondering exactly why Syndrome was screaming inside the restroom.

"It's not anything like that! Just go away!" came his reply from behind the closed door.

Xerek just shrugged and walked away, shaking his head, and thinking 'denial'. Syndrome quickly stripped down to his boxers and stared as nasty scars appeared all over his body, especially on his legs. He had no idea of the damage that had been done when he had been sucked through the turbine of his own jet. He pulled off his underpants and jumped into the shower, scrubbing away the last of the cover-up. The next thing he noticed was that he was _hurting_, which made him start yelping again.

"Augghh!" he screamed, his knees buckling. He grabbed the shower curtain as he fell, pulling it down on top of him. He knocked his head against the hard tile, knocking a bit of it loose. Blood mixed with water as the fresh wound started bleeding. He was slowly loosing consciousness as water flooded around him due to his arm accidentally switching the drain to 'closed.'

"Just… My… Luck…"

--

Cool night air ruffled Agent Cautz's hair as he stared at the search team. He knew he'd be fired if he didn't find Syndrome, or his body. The NSA agents who were in charge of watching him had already been fired. Time and time again he had stared at the footage from the security cameras, but the only thing that had been caught on record was and explosion followed by smoke, and lots of it. The government wanted the supervillain for two reasons: one, he was a genius, and an amazing inventor who could change the world if only he was using his talents for good instead of evil; two, he was extremely dangerous, and the public were scared. They were angry at the NSA and the government for letting a psychopath like Syndrome slip away from them, and rightly so.

Truth be told, Agent Cautz really _didn't _think that Syndrome was dead, in fact, he thought quite the opposite. He knew that the criminal was hiding out somewhere, planning and waiting to strike. However, he had been told by his superiors to tell the media that they thought Syndrome was most likely dead. In fact they planned to lie outright to everyone if they didn't come across him that night, and claim they _had_ found Syndrome's body, just for the sake of calming down the masses. There was a certain risk that came with that, though. If Syndrome did come back, they'd all been seen as huge liars, and there might be trouble.

"Stop the search, this time permanently," he ordered. He turned around and began walking back away from the river. As he neared the parking lot, he saw trucks from various news channels, and reporters holding out microphones. He may as well go ahead and lie.

"Agent Cautz, have you found anything yet?"

"I've got great news, actually," Cautz breathed. "We found his body, and we'll have an autopsy done on it later this week to determine the exact cause of death."

Pictures were taken, more questions were asked and answered, and Jack Cautz was growing weary. After the initial excitement died down, he sluggishly went to his truck, opening the door and climbing inside. His assistant, Kyle Black, was chuckling, hands behind his head. "Ha-ha," he chortled. "What a pack of lies you fed those losers! I can't wait to see the canard they unwittingly write up! We won't loose our jobs, and the public will be deceived into a false sense of security. I love this line of work!"

"That's because you're a no-good son of a gun," Cautz growled through his teeth.

"I beg yer pardon?" Kyle said, not quite hearing what Jack had mumbled.

"Nothing, Kyle, nothing," he growled, starting the truck and driving out of the parking lot, feeling as guilty as a man could feel.

_Agent Dicker probably would never have stooped to this level…_

_--_

Violet kicked her television, smashing the glass, and buried her head in her pillow, sobbing uncontrollably. The latest report was that they found Syndrome's body in the Mudson River. There was no hope at all anymore, she may as well forget all about the guy. After all, it probably never would have worked out between them, right? She sat up and wiped her face on her sleeve. She grabbed her motorbike helmet and ran out to find her scooter. She decided that, despite the fact that it was still early morning, and she hadn't slept a wink the previous night, she'd drive down to the NSA Metroville Headquarters so that she could find out more about the whole thing.

The registered superheroes had been kept somewhat in the black about the whole thing. Every time she asked for more information, she would be ignored by the agents. This led her to believe there may be more to the story than just what was broadcast on the news stations. Her vision was somewhat blurred from her tears, which made it hard to see where she was going for the first few minutes. She burst through the doors and staggered up to the front desk, whipping out her ID.

"I want to see the Top Agent!" she said.

The secretary was taken aback for a moment, but quietly pointed towards the elevator to the left. "Third floor, first office on the right."

Violet hadn't met the Top Agent of the National Supers Association yet, the only reason she ever came to the headquarters was to drop off a report paper or two. Years ago, she used to stay and visit with Agent Rick Dicker from time to time, who had been a good friend to her family for a while. Unfortunately, around two or three years before the present day, Agent Dicker had passed away.

She pressed the 'up' button on the elevator and waited until the doors opened. She then climbed in and sighed. She hoped that the Top Agent would be kind enough to give her some information about Syndrome. She stepped out as the elevator came to a halt and looked down the hall. She went to the right and knocked on the door of the first office.

"Come in," came a deep raspy voice.

Violet opened the door and winced as the smell of cigar smoke flooded her nostrils. The Top Agent turned his chair around and faced Violet. He was a gruff man, with dark hair and five o'clock shadow. It was funny; he looked _exactly _the way Violet had pictured him. "I'm -- Violet Parr --" she started, pulling out her ID again and pushing it in front of him. He picked it up and stared at it before blowing a puff of cigar smoke in her direction. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. She looked at the plaque on his desk, it read 'Clyde Brisk.'

"Whaddayawant?" he grunted.

"Well, Mr. Brisk, I was hoping that you could tell me about Syndrome --" Violet started.

"He's dead, what more do you need to know?" Brisk said, snuffing his cigar out on a tray and leaning forward, glaring at her, his face twitching just a tad.

"If he's dead, may I see his body?" she asked, her face wrinkling from the stench of his breath.

"Can't allow that, sorry," he said. "Why would you want to see his body, anyway?"

"No reason in particular. Why is it that you _can't _allow me to see him?" Violet asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Well, little missy," he growled. "That's for me to know."

"He's not _really _dead, is he?" she said, leaning forward to look him directly in the eyes. Brisk reached over and pressed the button on his intercom. "Security, do you mind removing this bothersome young lady from my office?"

She heard heavy footsteps and she turned around, heading towards the door. "Don't bother, I'll leave on my own."

Violet had a look of satisfaction on her face as she exited the building and walked towards her motor scooter. _Don't worry, Buddy, I'll find you -- wherever you are…_


	13. There's A Reason For It

**13**

Syndrome awoke who knows how long later, face down on the floor of his bathroom, his cheek pressed against the base of the toilet. He blinked and pulled himself back, coughing and sputtering, and wiping his cheek with his hand. He stood up and looked around, there were blotches of red on the rug by the shower-tub, and the curtain was laying inside. He glanced down at his body and muttered. "Oh, look at that, I'm naked." He said, reaching around and grabbing a towel off the counter. "This is very, very mysterious. I shall now mentally debate about whether I should tell anyone about this awkward experience, or not."

He walked by the mirror on his way to the door and got a glimpse of himself out of his peripheral vision. He had long, twisted, silvery scars all over himself and his left eye was an odd shade of bright red, and when he closed his right eye, he couldn't see at all through the left one. "Oh, yeah, this is really, really super weird." He didn't remember anything about what happened before he woke up with his face pressed against the latrine. It was all a big, potentially embarrassing conundrum. He stared at himself for a little while longer. "I need to trim my hair," he decided at last. "It's really getting long, and I'm starting to look like a metal rocker or something." He often talked to himself, because in his opinion, he was a very pleasant person to have a conversation with.

He walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Everything seemed to be in place – except the door was a pile of sawdust on the floor. He looked over at his desk – his sonic sound blasting device was complete. He didn't remember completing it. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. "Ah-hmm, maybe I'm dreaming or something?" he said to himself as he searched his drawers for something to wear. He paused for a second to pinch himself. It hurt. "Okay, I'm not dreaming. That's just – great. Okay, I'm not going to tell _anyone _about this."

Since his bedroom was lacking in a door, and he cared about his privacy, he went back into the bathroom to change. He looked at the clock on the side table by his bed. It was about dinner time, so he'd have to be heading down to the dining area. He adjusted his navy blue jacket and took in a deep breath, hoping that no one would ask him any questions. He opened the door to the dining area and took his place at the table. Bomb Jour, Xerek, and Mirage were there, but Earthworm and Ruthless Jr. seemed to be missing.

".. Syndrome, you look terrible," Bomb Jour said as soon as he sat down.

"Pfft, yeah well, you're not looking so hot yourself!" he retorted.

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, you look like you got hit by a train or something."

He stared at her for a moment, and picked up his fork, shoving peas onto it and stuffing it into his mouth. Xerek took a drink out of his wine glass and glanced at Syndrome curiously. "She's right, you know, old chap, you look to be in terrible condition. Did something happen?"

"I'm not old!" Syndrome exclaimed, standing up abruptly. He waved his fork in the air and pointed it at Xerek. "So don't think that I am, cause I'm younger than you, Brit-brat!"

"He's completely missing the point," Mirage sighed as Syndrome said down with a ticked-off expression on his face. He continued to eat and stare at the other villains at the table, which was actually quite rude, but no one bothered to point that out.

"Syndrome," Bomb Jour tried again, "what we're trying to say is – you look messed up..."

He growled.

"Your left eye is an unholy shade of red," Xerek pointed out.

Syndrome growled again, pushing his plate to the side and heading towards the exit. He narrowly missed colliding with Earthworm, and Ruthless Jr., who's left arm was in a cast for some reason unknown to Syndrome. "Jerk," Ruthless Jr. commented as he entered the dining hall.

"He looked like a train hit him or something," Earthworm added.

--

"So, you're not going to help me out with this one? As in – I'm on my own? What kind of family are you?!" Violet snapped, throwing her bread roll on the floor in anger. Taffy, the family dog, was happy to dispose of the now soiled piece of food for her.

"I'm sorry, Violet, but I just don't like the idea of my daughter going on some crazy mission to rescue an old arch-foe of ours who was declared dead by professionals," Helen said, "it doesn't doesn't seem sane."

"I wouldn't want you going near him even if he was alive," added Bob, who looked like he was ready to break his fork in two. "The government and the NSA say he's dead, and I know they wouldn't lie."

"Maybe things just aren't the same there anymore," Violet argued. "It's not like it was when you worked for them! It all started with that stupid mission report paper system..."

"I think the paper was a good idea, that way they could get a written account of how things went down, it's very handy for everyone," Helen pointed out.

"Pfft, it's just extra work. We save the world, and then we have to write an essay about it." Violet grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seriously, they don't know the half of what we go through!"

"They should, since you papers on it." Bob said.

Violet glared at him and pushed her chair back. "I'm going over to Dash's apartment. Maybe he'll actually have some good advice!"

Jack-Jack waved to her as she stormed out the door, grabbing her helmet on the way. Her parents were never this unsupportive, and it kind of felt strange. She'd simply have to talk to her younger brother, who somehow always had a good plan, despite the fact that he was an annoying pest. She arrived at the apartment complex he was staying at and rushed up to his door, knocking loudly as dogs barked in the background. Dash ran to the door with a 'woosh' and opened it. "Well, hey there, sis! What can I do ya for?" he asked.

".. Well, for a start, you can speak correctly.." She said, rolling her eyes.

"My most sincere apologies for my use of incorrect grammar, dear sister."

"Knock it off, this is a serious visit --"

"Ooh.. Who died?"

Violet stared at her little brother for a second before pushing by him and entering his apartment. There was trash all over the floor, and it stunk of fast food, which was basically all Dash ever ate unless he was over at their parent's house. He shut the door and followed her in, clearing junk off the couch and motioning for her to sit down. "So, what's the serious biz?" Dash asked, putting his feet up on the coffee table. As soon as he did that, it broke down the middle and fell in two piece on the floor. "Well – I've been meaning to replace that anyway..."

Violet put her hands in her pockets and sighed. "It's about Syn – Buddy.."

"Synbuddy?"

"No, Buddy! Remember – the ex-supervillain – he stayed at mom and dad's – until he vanished mysteriously --?" she reminded.

"Oh, right! The dude who liked to break things and get water all over people's floors and stuff – I totally remember him," Dash said with a nod. "I heard some rival villain did him in or something weird like that. Totally unbelievable, really."

"You don't believe that cover-up story either?!" Violet exclaimed.

"Whoa – what? No, no, I was saying 'unbelievable', as in I can't imagine that'd happen to a guy like him, not as in I don't believe he got killed." Dash corrected. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an uneaten piece of pizza and picked it up, taking a bite out of it. Violet stuck out her tongue and winced. "Okay, before I go on, could you cut that out and clean this place up?"

"Sure thing, Vi!" Dash said, getting up and speeding around the room, picking up items and putting them back as he went. The whole place was sparkling in a matter of seconds.

"Show off," Violet sniffed. "Okay, back to business – I don't believe that story about Buddy being dead – I mean, it's got more holes than a piece of swiss cheese!"

"Mmm, gotta love swiss," Dash said with a smile.

".. You're clearly not getting how serious this is.."

"Enlighten me, sis – exactly why is this serious?"

"Well, the government and the NSA are lying to the world, how serious can you get? Plus – I'm kind of worried about Buddy.." Violet sighed.

"Why are you worried about a dead guy?" Dash asked, staring at his sister as though she were bonkers.

"He's not dead! That's the whole point! But I think he might be in trouble, so I've got to rescue him!" she yelled.

"Why would you even care?"

"Because I love him!"

".. You what?"

--

Syndrome flopped down onto his bed with a massive sigh, gripping the royal purple covers tightly and trying to figure out what on Earth had happened. He pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the side, then had second thoughts, picked it up, and put it away neatly in his closet, just so he didn't trip on it later. He then went back to his bed and pulled the covers up over his entire body and curled into a ball, gripping his knees with his arms. "Things like random memory loss aren't supposed to happen until you get old," he murmured. "Maybe I whacked my head on something? Or maybe someone tried to kill me – that might explain the scars – no, wait they're clearly from an old injury. Must've been a very bad one, at that..."

He paused for a moment.

"Jet turbine. But that doesn't explain the vision loss in my left eye, coupled with it being some weird red color, and the fact that I was on naked on the floor of my bathroom with my cheek on the toilet."

He pushed the covers off his head so that he could get a breath of fresh air. "... This is _so_ paranormal." He reached over and pulled a notebook out of the drawer on his side table. "Okay, gotta figure this out. I'm a genius, I can do this."

Syndrome flipped through the notebook and raised an eyebrow at what he saw. He had opened to a page with an old drawing of his – the one of him and Violet, from the times when he stayed at her apartment. He stared at it for a moment, a smile coming to his face. An abrupt knock brought him to attention and he threw the notebook to the side and stood up to see Mirage standing where the door used to be, her hands on her hips and an eyebrow raised. "My, my, Syndrome, what ever did happen to you?"

".. You're actually talking to me?!" he asked, a dumbfounded look on his face. She foxily sashayed up to the side of his bed and put a hand on his shoulder. He stared at her as though she had turned into a giant purple space Martian who was playing the tuba while balancing on a rubber ball. "Whoa."

"Care to explain to me how you got those nasty scars?" she asked, lightly touching him on the cheek with her hand. He scooted away from her, feeling so pleased, and at the same time, so very creeped out.

"Ahm. It was a jet turbine. I was sucked into the turbine of my jet." Syndrome stuttered, flopping down backwards onto the bed. _My God, she's scaring me. I thought she was thoroughly angry with me, and never speaking to me again, but now she's doing all this sexy stuff, and I think she likes me, and I wonder if she wants to get back together with me, and this is so right, and yet it's wrong – so wrong._

"You poor, poor thing – I bet that hurt so much. I bet you'd like it if I made you feel _better_." She cooed.

"Eeep!"

"You're so cute when you're terrified," Mirage purred.

Xerek walked by Syndrome's room and caught a glimpse of what was going on. "Egad, you two, get a room with a door!" he scoffed before turning around and heading in the other direction.

--

"I'm sorry, I think I had a _lot _of earwax buildup in my ear, because I thought I just heard _you _say that _you _love Syndrome."

"I do, and I think he feels the same way about me," she said, sinking back into the couch.

Dash's jaw almost hit the floor. He edged to the side of the couch, eye twitching. "Who are you and what have you done with the sister I know and love?" he asked.

"Dash! You act as though loving him is a bad thing!" Violet snapped.

".. It is a bad thing, it's a very, very bad thing! _He_'s a bad thing! Vi, you can't be in love with the enemy, and he's the enemiest enemy I know of!" Dash exclaimed, standing up and pacing back and forth. "This is wrong, I tell you, **wrong**!"

"Can it, Dash!" she screeched, shoving one of her forcefields at him. He rushed to get out of the way and gasped.

"Gosh, Vi, calm down already! Alright, so you're in love with a megalomaniac who's most likely dead, and I can't stop that. But really, what do you plan on doing?"

Violet sat down on the couch and growled. "I don't know! I was hoping you'd have a plan or something."

Dash stared at his sister and let out a long frustrated sigh. "I guess I could help you out with your little love bug problem," he said. "Do you have any leads? Where could he have gone?"

"Well – he really likes tropical islands apparently..."

"Then that's where we'll start looking."

He pulled out some sort of high tech object from behind the large pillow on his couch and pressed a couple of buttons. A list of privately owned islands popped up and Dash waved it in Violet's face. "Look at that! There's not too many of them! -- But what are we going to do? I mean, it's not like the rich folks who own these things are going to appreciate us snooping around – plus, I don't know how we'd get to these places to begin with!"

".. I know exactly who could help us out with this.." Violet said.

"You do?"

"Yeah, let me use your phone!"

"Sure thing!" he said, going to the kitchen and pointing to the telephone. Violet rushed up to it and dialed a number. She heard it ringing, and then someone picked up.

"Hello, is this Marty?" she asked.

".. Yup, it sure is, and who is it I'm talking to?" he asked.

"This is Violet – my brother and I need quick transportation to some remote islands – do you think you could help us out?"

"You've got it! Meet me you know where as soon as you possibly can --" there was a click and she smiled as she hung up.

Dash looked at her confused. "Who'd you get?"

"The best pilot I could think of – Marty Gilligan!"


	14. I Dream Myself Alive

**14**

Syndrome was enjoying himself quite a bit, maybe even too much. Mirage was sitting next to him in nothing but a bra and panties, and he was biting his tongue and trying to keep himself from doing something overzealous. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling politely and tilting his head to the side, which made his hair fall over his eyes. Mirage giggled and pushed it out of the way, and he squirmed. Part of him was still thinking over the recent events, and the cause of his bathroom dilemma. Mirage was proving to be quite the distraction, hanging over him like a dead goose – a very attractive dead goose, but a dead goose nonetheless.

What the heck was she getting at anyway? Oh, great, now she was wiggling her derrière. So much for trying to think straight. Syndrome looked at her and blinked; she edged over to him and attempted to remove his shirt. After a bit of struggling and silent protest on the part of the evil genius, she finally managed to pull it off, and then yanked off his pants. There they were, sitting half naked, looking at each other in awkward silence. All of the sudden he stood up, a grin on his face and his eyes wide, like he had just had the most brilliant idea on Earth. "The recordings from the security cameras!" he announced proudly, standing in a victorious pose, wearing nothing more than briefs.

"But you know how much I detest being taped," Mirage groaned, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

He wasn't paying attention to whatever she was saying, he quickly ran out the through the doorway (which still had no door), and in his underwear, headed towards the security room, leaving his ex-girlfriend sitting on the bed looking rather frustrated.

Syndrome opened the door to the room where all the monitors were, and saw all of the other supervillains and a couple henchmen gathered around the screen, looking at his bedroom. "Hey!" he exclaimed, causing them all to turn and face him.

"Oh my, Syndrome! Ha-ha, this isn't what you think," Xerek started, standing up from his spot quickly and laughing nervously. The others looked ready to crack up at the sight of the fiery-haired supervillain in his drawers.

".. You all have major issues that I will address later," Syndrome said, pushing past them, switching the view to the bathroom and rewinding the footage to the time before he woke from from being knocked unconscious. "A-ha!" he exclaimed, pointing to himself taking a shower.

"My God," Xerek murmured.

"Egad!" Earthworm exclaimed.

"Sick and vrong, sick and vrong!" Ruthless Jr. chimed in.

"Uck!" Bomb Jour coughed, looking like she was going to be sick.

Syndrome looked particularly annoyed. ".. You sickos were attempting to watch me go at it with Mirage -- how is being naked in the shower any different from being naked in bed!?"

"If we had known that that's what you look like nude, we never would have dreamed of it," Bomb Jour gagged.

The evil genius ignored her and watched the footage of himself falling down inside the shower-tub, taking the curtain down with him. A few moments later, he crawled out and collapsed down by the toilet. "Mystery solved!" Syndrome said with a satisfied nod.

"That's good enough to be on _Hilarious Home Videos_!" Earthworm laughed. "Who wants to submit it!?"

"Don't you dare!"

Bomb Jour pulled the tape out and waved it in the air. "Come on, let's go mail it!"

Syndrome tried to grab it from her, but she tossed it to Xerek who caught it and ran out of the room with it. The other supervillains pushed past him and ran off, laughing and tossing the tape from one person to another. "And you still look like you've been hit by a train!" one of them yelled as they ran off down the hallway, leaving a furious Syndrome standing in his delicates.

--

"_And now back to the **live **one-hundred thousand dollar giveaway on Hilarious Home Videos!" _

Dash was sitting down on the couch, laughing as the clips played. Violet was busy packing whatever she'd need for the trip, which was basically nothing more than her super suit and some other essentials. "Dash, cut the television off, we've got to go in a few minutes," she said.

"Hold on, sis, it's only got a little bit of runtime left, let me finish watching it!" her younger brother pleaded.

"Oh, fine, but you'll have to pack quickly once it's over."

"_Our next video comes to us all the way from Volcán Island! It serves as a lesson to us all: shower curtains don't make good fall-stoppers." _The audience laughed, even though the joke was crummy. The clip started playing and Dash was already chuckling. After a couple moments, he suddenly stopped and stared. "Ahm – Violet – come look at this – I think it's that one villain guy you're in love with..." He said, motioning for her to come and take a look.

Violet sat down next to her brother and looked at the video. She could tell it was Buddy, albeit he looked a bit different – and he was naked. Luckily, since it was a family show, the naughty bits were blurred out. "Oh my gosh, it is him! Where is this clip from, Dash?!" she exclaimed.

"Um – um – it was like Volcán Island or something – yeah, that was it!"

"This makes everything so much easier! I told you he was alive, Dash, I told you!" Violet said excitedly. "Quick, we've got to get to the private airport to meet Marty!"

They quickly ran out the door, almost forgetting their luggage until Dash reminded that they needed it, and they hopped onto Violet's motor scooter and headed towards the airport, which was just on the outskirts of town. They skidded to a halt at the entrance and rushed in, ignoring the yells of the security guard. Standing by a sophisticated looking jet-plane was a young man, one eyebrow raised as the two superheroes came rushing towards him.

"Marty! Do you know where Volcán Island is?" Violet asked, slowing down her pace until she eventually came to a stop in front of the pilot.

Marty bit his lip and looking up at the sky for a moment, searching his brain for the answer to Violet's question. "Ahm – well – yes, yes I do! It's somewhere in the Caribbean, if I recall correctly. But I heard that's it's a dangerous place to go flyin' by, it's got some filthy rich owner who doesn't like planes getting within radio range of the place. I also heard that someone got shot down flyin' over 'round that particular island."

"That sounds like Syndrome, alright," Dash said, remembering back to the time they were all nearly killed when a missile from Nomanisan Island hit the plane they were in.

Marty took a toothpick out of his pocket and bit it, shrugging. "I can get you in real stealthily, though, they won't even pick us up on their radars."

"That'd be great, Marty! You really are the best pilot I know!" Violet said, climbing into his plane and looking around.

"Not a problem," he said with a shrug, following them and taking the captain's seat in the cockpit. "After all, I do owe you a favor. You've saved my life, more than once."

And with that, the plane took off into the sky.

--

Syndrome groaned, arms folded over his chest as the others were hovering over him, laughing and pointing as they rewatched the clip of him in the shower on _Hilarious Home Videos _for the millionth time. "I will destroy you all." He swore as he frowned, eyes narrowed. He cringed as Earthworm gave him a 'noogie', and Bomb Jour giggled hysterically at it. Syndrome sat in the middle of the entertainment room, attempting to block out the teasing that was coming from all sides. Would they let it die already? Seriously, there are tons of other funny clips on the show, why did they have to obsess over his? At least it had won the one-hundred thousand dollar prize, but he had to split it with the others or they'd make his life even more miserable than it already was.

"You had to go and tape it," Syndrome growled, glaring at Ruthless Jr. who was near laughing his head off. They had sent the original copy off to the studio, and even though they'd requested, they hadn't gotten it back, so instead, they had recorded the television show. The thing had only aired earlier that day, and yet it was a worldwide sensation. _I'll be known as 'that guy who slipped and fell in the shower' or 'the guy who kissed a toilet' for the rest of my life._

"I'm going out," he decided at last, exiting the room and heading towards the hangar where his plane was. He liked his plane, he had modified it himself a few months ago. It had the same automated piloting his Manta Jet had had, except on this plane it was only optional, so he could fly it if he wanted to. It also had laser guns for aerial battles, just in case. He jumped inside of it and sat down, running his gloved hands over the sleek interior.

He started the powerful plane up and jetted out of the hangar, shooting at near sonic speed into the sky. He handled the controls with expertise and flare. All of the sudden there was a beeping noise coming from the radar. He squinted and looked at it, finding it hard to see the darn thing because he still didn't have the use of his left eye. Because of that fact, he really shouldn't have been flying at all, but he didn't care. There was a red dot on the screen near him which meant there was an unidentified craft of sorts nearby. "Huh," he grunted. "What's another aircraft doing around here?"

Syndrome turned his plane so that he was headed in the direction of the red dot. No commercial flights ever passed by Volcán Island, so this was highly suspicious. "Run unknown plane identification," he commanded. The computer made assorted beeping noises before an electronic voice said: _"Inconclusive."_

"Whoever these people are, they must have gone to a lot of trouble to make sure they weren't identified. They must be from the government."

In the distance he was finally able to spot the other craft. He pressed the red button on his dashboard, and the plane went invisible. He fly past the other plane with ultra-speed, then made a loop and came back down over the top of them, shooting his laser canons.

"We're under attack!" Marty yelled back at the others. "I suggest you fasten your seatbelts and hang on, this may get ugly."

Violet and Dash did as the pilot said, sitting back and fastening their seatbelts tight. Dash turned to his sister and said, "at least this time you'll be able to make a forcefield big enough to protect us."

Marty looked absolutely ticked. "I can't even see who's firin' at us!" he growled, boosting the jet to turbo and dodging the laser shots. "They're not on the radar, and they're not in my sights, yet I can tell these shots are close-range."

There was a large boom as Syndrome's jet flew directly above their's at an incredible speed. The villain once again looped his plane around and shot at them. There was an explosion as the right wing of Marty's plane was torn off.

"_Hit confirmed, right wing destroyed." _Syndrome's computer said. He smirked and came back around for another shot. _"Be advised, invisi-shields will wear off in approximately three minutes."_

"Now would be a great time to make one of them forcefields of your's, Miz Parr," Marty said as the plane jolted from the hit and started spiraling down towards the water.

Violet nodded and conjured up a forcefield that was large enough to protect the entire plane. She didn't know how long she could hold it, though. Syndrome's shots were coming down hard, but none of them were able to penetrate.

"What is this? I had a clear shot, I could have destroyed them entirely! -- They must have some sort of protective field, gah!" he snarled, turning his plane back around and firing at them once again.

"Our fuel tanks were hit, this plane's goin' to explode!" Marty exclaimed, turning back to his passengers. "What are we going to do?!"

"Quick, get over here and I'll put a forcefield around all of us," Violet said. Marty clambered to get out of his seat, and Dash unbuckled and stood next to his sister. Just as she was about to put a forcefield around the three of them, there was the sound of an explosion. Syndrome had shot their tail to bits and they were now spiraling out of control, and being tossed about. Violet threw up a forcefield quickly, hardly able to think about anything. There were several more large blasts and the plane exploded into bits. Syndrome's invisi-shields disengaged themselves and he slowed his speeds so that he could watch the fulmination. He smiled wickedly as bits of metal flew in every which direction. Violet heard as splash as she landed in the water, but they didn't sink. Somehow, the forcefield prevented her from sinking. The fuselage, or what was left of it, came down into the water, creating a wave that pushed her to the side.

She looked down, Dash was crouched by her feet. He looked up and to the sides. "Where's the pilot?" he asked after a brief moment.

That was when Violet realized that Marty wasn't with them. She felt a lump in her throat and she swallowed. She hadn't been able to save him. All of the sudden Syndrome's jet flew down right next to them, and for but a second, Violet caught a glimpse of the pilot.

It was Buddy.

--

Agent Cautz picked a paperclip off his desk, and dropped it, only to pick it back up again and repeat the process. There still hadn't been any sign of the supervillain, even though they'd look just about everywhere they could think of. He pulled out a file from his desk drawer and looked over Syndrome's information for what seemed like the millionth time. Was there something he missed? He looked over the file and something suddenly caught his eye. It was a report on Nomanisan Island and how the government had seized it.

Islands.

They hadn't thought to look into that.

How stupid of them.

Villains loved islands, most of them had one.

It was all so very obvious.

"I've got to tell the chief!"


	15. Hunting High And Low

**15**

Syndrome was near trembling with excitement, feeling powerful and in-control for once in a long time. He had a huge cat-like grin on his face as he steered his plane back towards Volcán Island. It'd been a while since he killed someone, and he had to admit it felt good, but somewhere deep inside he felt something different. Was it guilt? Impossible. He hadn't felt guilty about anything for as long as he could remember. He was probably just hungry or something. When he got back to Xerek's island, he'd have to make himself a nice big victory sandwich. His plane landed on the runway, almost hitting Bomb Jour, who was heading out for a nice walk in the sunshine.

He jumped out, ignoring her stream of curses and insults. He walked inside, doing his best to avoid the other supervillains as he made his way to the kitchen. Syndrome walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a package of sliced ham. He then went to the cupboard and grabbed the bread before heading over to the refrigerator again to grab the mustard out of the side shelves. He closed the door with his foot, since his hands were full. He dumped everything out on the counter and began making himself a ham and mustard sandwich.

Syndrome completed it and turned around to search the refrigerator for something to drink. When he turned around, the sandwich was gone. He stood there for a second, confusion written all over his face. He raised his eyebrows and stalked over to the ingredients and made himself another, and once again turned around to get something to drink. Like the time before, when he turned around, the ham and mustard sandwich was gone. "Augh!" he exclaimed, quickly throwing together a third. He could have sworn he heard a mischievous chuckle as he turned around to get something to drink. This time, he whirled around faster than before and caught the sandwich thief red-handed.

"Earthworm!" he yelled.

The short super criminal ran off in a hurry, carrying the sandwich with him. Syndrome raised his fist and shouted loudly before going to make a last and final sandwich, and this time carrying it with him as he went to get a drink. Feeling victorious, he went to sit down at the table and eat. The second he took his first bite, there was a loud crash from behind him that made him turn his head around swiftly. The pantry and china cabinets had fallen over in a domino sort of way, taking the fridge along with them. He stared for a second before swallowing and quickly running out of the kitchen so that he wouldn't be present at the scene of the 'crime.'

Syndrome walked down the hall, heading back towards his room, munching on his sandwich and thinking about fixing his door. All of the sudden he felt a tap on his shoulder, he gagged on a bite of bread and meat and fell onto his knees, sputtering and choking. "Gaaagggghhh," he said, swallowing a bit of his drink to help the stuck food slide down his throat easier. After he was down with his choke fest, he turned around to see Bomb Jour, hands on her hips and eyes narrowed. "What were you thinking, nearly running me down with that plane of yours?!" she yelled. "What were you doing out there anyway?"

He swallowed and stared at her. "Well, I didn't intentionally fly my plane towards you, you were in the way. I was out there on a leisure flight, but I managed to shoot some government plane down while I was at it. It was a whole bunch of fun, you should have been there."

"You shot down a plane?! What were you thinking?!" she exclaimed. "Now we're going to be in trouble!"

"Really, now? If they send anyone else, I'll just shoot them down too, sheesh."

"I'm telling on you."

"That's a bit immature, isn't it, Bomb Jour?" he commented, an amused smile on his face.

"Not in this case it's not," she huffed, rushing off to go tell Xerek about what Syndrome had done.

He burst out laughing as soon as she left. It was just plain immature to him, Xerek probably wouldn't even care. He got up off the ground and once again started walking towards his room, shaking his head and walking into his room, flipping on the light and sitting down on his squeaky leather chair, putting his legs up on the desk. ".. Funny, I ate something, yet the hollow feeling in my stomach has yet to leave, I'll just have to see the island doctor," he said to himself. His eyes drooped as he turned around and eyed his comfortable bed. "After I take a nap..."

"**Syndrome! Get out here this minute!**" came an angry yell.

"Uh-oh."

--

Violet's mouth was hanging open, she didn't want to believe what she had just seen. There she was with her brother, floating in a forcefield bubble on the ocean, burning debris falling all around them. She glanced at her brother, hoping to see him sporting the same surprised face she was, but he seemed more worried than anything. She took in a deep breath; the man she had seen was probably not Buddy. His plane had gone by in a flash, she never even really had time to analyze his face. She pushed any thought of the guy in the jet being him to the back of her mind.

"What are we going to do now? We're stranded." Dash said, looking around. For as far as they could see, there was nothing but ocean and more ocean. "I mean, I could try to run, but I think the waves would keep pushing us back or something."

"I'm sure someone will come by to rescue us soon, Dash, don't worry," Violet said, trying to reassure her brother. In truth, she didn't believe her own words, no one would find them so far away from any mainland. She looked up to the sky; there was no sign that the enemy plane had ever even been there, there was no trail to follow, there was nothing, they were stuck.

_One hour later..._

Violet was growing tired of holding up the forcefield, her arms felt weak and she winced. Eventually she had to disengage it, and she and her brother landed in the water with a splash. She was so weak she could hardly keep herself above water, and kept going under and coming back up coughing and sputtering. Dash swam over to her and grabbed her to help her stay above the surface. In the distance, he almost though he could hear the steady sound of an approaching aircraft, but it could have just been a delusion of sorts.

"You hear that, Violet?" he asked, kicking with his legs to assure they stayed afloat.

"Hear what?" she rasped, gripping her younger brother's shoulder tightly.

"That sound, it sounds like a plane," he replied.

They paused for a moment, straining to hear. Both of them looked at each other, and then up at the sky, where the same plane from before was heading towards them, diving down towards the ocean. "What are they doing?!"

Syndrome's eyes were narrowed as he flew his plane towards where he had shot down the government plane. Leaning over him were Xerek, Bomb Jour, and Ruthless Jr., each of them sporting a ticked-off look on their face. "Okay, you've seen the place, can we go back now, I'm tired," he growled. Xerek glared at him and folding his arms over his chest.

"Fly a bit lower, I think he see something," he said.

"Pfft, it's probably – just – wreckage – wait, those are people!" Syndrome exclaimed.

"Quick, land your plane in the water!" Xerek said, tugging on the red-headed villain's sleeve eagerly. "We could capture them, it'd help greatly in our plot to take over the world."

"Which is a very stupid and clichéd plot, by the way," Syndrome pointed out, "why not go for something more original?"

"Shut up and fly," the lanky man hissed. Syndrome activated the plane's water landing features and gently set his aircraft down in the water, and pressed a button to open the side doors. They all peered out to see Violet and Dash swimming frantically towards them.

"Well, what do you know, the prey is coming to the predator," Bomb Jour said, tilting her head in confusion.

All of the sudden Violet stopped, almost letting herself sink again. "Buddy?" she gasped, looking directly at the evil genius.

"No, I'm Syndrome," he said, pointing to himself. "Sorry to disappoint."

"Syndrome!?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out."

Dash also stopped suddenly, looking surprised. "Syndrome?"

".. What?"

"You're Syndrome."

"I know that, moron. Hey, Bomb Jour, why don't you help these two idiots out of the water," he said, rolling his eyes.

Bomb Jour leaned down and pulled the two siblings out one by one. As soon as Violet was in the plane she embraced Syndrome. He gasped, looking freaked out and pushed her away from him. "What are you doing?!" he exclaimed, lip curling as he looked at her. "What, is it 'Hug A Supervillain Day'? Seriously."

She looked up at him, sporting a look of both shock and awe. "What happened to you? You've got scars all over your face..."

"Yeah, he looks like he got hit by a train or something!" Dash added.

Syndrome glared, not really knowing what was going on. In truth, he didn't even really remember the two of them. He was sure he'd seem them somewhere before, he just didn't know where. "Quick, someone take these two weirdos and stick them in the cargo hold or something," he said, going back to the cockpit of his plane.

"Wait, Buddy, it's Vi, remember me!?" Violet yelled as Bomb Jour led her and her brother towards the door to the cargo hold.

"Nope," he said, shrugging.

"How could you not remember me? I'm Mr. Incredible's daugh--!" she was cut off as she fell down into the dark cargo room. Dash landed on top of her and they looked up as the door was shut. "Why doesn't he remember?"

"I dunno, maybe his memory was affected when he fell down in the shower in that clip we saw on _Hilarious Home Videos_?"

"I – what are we going to do?" Violet said, her lower lip trembling. She looked like she was desperately trying to stop herself from crying.

Dash looked at her with pity in his eyes. "I don't know, Vi, I guess we'll just have to wait and see what happens next."

--

Agent Cautz burst through Clyde Brisk's office door, waving his arms frantically and nearly tripping over the trash can. He threw his fists down on the desk and took in deep breaths. He held up one finger, and stood there, panting. The Top Agent stared at Cautz, waiting for the man to start speaking. He puffed on his cigar and stared, arms folded across his chest. "Well, what is it, Cautz?" he rumbled, pulling the cigar out of his mouth and grinding the smoldering end of it against the bottom of his ash tray.

"I think I may know where Syndrome is hiding!" Cautz breathed.

A crooked smile spread across Brisk's face. "Really? Do tell."

The agent pulled a chair up and sat down on it, making the leather give a squeak of distress. He gave a long side and leaned forward. "Well, I was reviewing his file, and you know how he had an island that he apparently loved a whole lot?"

"Yeah, go on..."

"Well, I think he may be hiding on one of the Minor Outlaying Islands of the USA," Agent Cautz said, finishing his sentence with a curt nod.

Clyde Brisk's smile only got wider. "Cautz, I think you've earned yourself a promotion," he said, lighting himself another cigar. "Take a few agents – and maybe some supers, and go search those islands!"

Agent Cautz's eyes lit up at the word 'promotion'. He nodded and abruptly stood up, almost knocking over a potted plant in the process. "Yes sir!" he said, rushing out the door. As soon as he was gone, Agent Brisk picked up his telephone and dialed a number. He put his feet up on his desk and leaned back in his worn desk chair, still sporting a crooked grin. "Mr. President? Yeah, one of my agents just had himself a bright idea. Mmm-hmm – oh, trust me, we've got him this time. Yes, sir, oh – most certainly, sir! We'll have him back in custody and ready to serve – hmm? A change of plan? Well, what is it? Dead? You want him dead?"

"But why is that? I thought we wanted him for his smarts and inventing abilities... Yes, I know, the public – but imagine the weapons he could build for us! No other country could ever beat us in a war – what? Oh, yes, I know, you give the orders – yes, of course.. Well, if you want him dead, I'll make it happen. Yes, sir. Uh-huh. The FBI? Well, I don't know they – well, fine, if you want to send them – the army, too? But really, my agents can handle anything I – yeah, I'm sending some supers... So, the army won't be necessary, then? Good. You want me to go with them? Alright, sure – can do, Mr. President, goodbye."

Clyde Brisk hung up the phone and puffed on his cigar for a minute before standing up and grabbing his coat from a nearby rack and putting it on. "This is going to be interesting..."


	16. There's Never A Forever Thing

**16**

Bomb Jour led the captive Supers to one of the holding cells, trying to ignore the protests and demands from both of them. Violet kept demanding to talk to Syndrome, and Dash kept demanding to use the bathroom. On top of that, Xerek wouldn't stop babbling about his plans, and Von Ruthless Jr. was singing a catchy, popular song that wouldn't leave your brain once it entered. Bomb Jour was about ready to rip her own intestines out and use them as ear plugs. "Would you shut up?!" she barked, throwing Violet and Dash into the cell, turning on the security, and slamming the door.

"Please, let me speak to Syndrome! I know him!" Violet yelled at Bomb Jour as she walked away.

The angry villainess whirled around, fists clenched and eyes burning with rage. "If it will make you be quiet, I'll let you speak to him!" Bomb Jour screeched, stomping off to go find Syndrome and drag him to Violet.

"Someone has a nasty temper," Dash commented, walking over to the cot in the corner of the room and sitting down on it. "I still have to use the bathroom."

Violet peered out of the small barred window in the door, waiting desperately so that she could speak with Syndrome, and hopefully make him remember who she was. She was sure he'd explain everything to her, he'd tell her that he wasn't really a supervillain, and that he was just being forced to work with the others. He'd tell her that he loved her too, and then everything would be alright. He wasn't truly evil, he couldn't be, he had such an innocent face.

She saw Bomb Jour returning, dragging a reluctant Syndrome behind her. He was trying to dig his heels into the ground, but she wasn't about to let him stay behind. "You've got to come, if you don't, they'll talk me to death!" she growled. She unlocked the door and shoved him in and closed it behind him. "Call me when you're done here!"

"Alright, what do you want with me? I was _trying_ to take a nap, and I'm _not _happy with this," Syndrome said, narrowing his eyes and clenching his fists.

Violet once again hugged him, burying her face in his chest, trying to fight back tears of frustration. He muttered under his breath and rolled his eyes. "Alright, do I know you or something? You look awfully familiar," he sighed.

"Of _course _you know me! I'm Violet – you know, Violet Parr? Mr. Incredible's daughter, don't you remember!?"

"Mr. _Incredible_," Syndrome snarled, seething as he thought of his former hero. His expression softened as he looked down at Violet. "Vi? Why are you here?"

"So you remember me?!"

"Vaguely, but yes. You're the one who helped me after I escaped from the _loony bin_," he said, voice low and thoughtful, "you were the one who was somewhat nice to me when all the others weren't. It's been a while."

"Eight months," Violet sighed, tightening her grip on him, not ever wanting to let go. "What happened? How did you get here?"

"As far as I can remember, I was kidnapped," he said. Violet let out a sigh of relief. So he had been forced to work for the supervillains. "Now I'm here, helping these bozos 'take over the world'."

"What?!" all traces of relief were gone as Violet jumped back, eyes wide. "You mean they're not forcing you to do this?"

"No, they're not. If I wanted to leave, I could. But here, I get room and board in exchange for my labor, with the extra bonus of those wackos at the NSA."

"You – you – how could you? You told me you'd changed. You lied to me!" Violet said, stepping away from him and clenching her fists. She started to form one of her forcefields, ready to knock some sense into Syndrome. She was stopped from doing anything as a blue laser ray hit her, immobilizing her. Dash leaped to his feet, but was also caught in one of the beams. Syndrome glanced from one Incredible to the other, his upper lip curling.

"_Nice_ try," he said darkly. "I admire your _audacity_."

Violet wanted to scream at him, telling him how much of a bastard he was, and how she was going to rip him limb from limb.

"**Syndrome! What are you doing in there?**" someone yelled; it sounded like Xerek.

Syndrome turned his head around as far as it could go and peeked out the little window. "Nothing much!" he replied, eying the two Supers caught in his Immobi-Ray.

"**Mm, alright, don't do anything stupid!"**

The evil genius rolled his eyes and turned around again. He stared at Violet, paying special attention to the aggressive expression that was frozen on her face. For a moment he had a look of bewilderment in his eyes, and his face twitched lightly. His lip curled and he bit his tongue, then he let the two drop down onto the ground, his hands shaking. Syndrome walked towards Violet as she was picking herself up off the hard floor. The fall had given her and her brother a few scratches, but nothing serious. He reached out his hand, she grabbed it and pulled herself up, still glaring daggers at him.

"How could you do this to me? How could you? You don't know how worried I was about you. I thought you had died, I thought I'd never see you again," she said in a guttural tone of voice. "I love you, Syndrome. I _love _you."

Syndrome had opened his mouth to say something snappy but closed it upon hearing her last two sentences. Suddenly a lump formed in his throat, and his mouth went dry. He looked at Dash who just shrugged and smiled a lopsided smile.

"Too bad the feeling isn't _mutual_," Syndrome said simply before using his keycard to open the cell door. He walked out, not even looking back, leaving Violet and Dash alone.

--

It hadn't taken long for the team of agents and superheroes to be assembled. This was _the _top priority mission, and if they succeeded, there'd be quite the reward for all of them. They were all headed out to their planes, ready to do some damage. They had scoped out several islands that they thought were likely places for a villain to be hiding on. The race was on, each group wanted to be the first to find Syndrome! Mystique was relaxing in the back of her team's plane, cigarette in her mouth and lighter in hand. Kyle Black was flying the jet, while Agent Cautz sat, looking very eager as they approached the first island they were to check: Avalon Island. Joining them was Senior Agent Drake Blayner, a fair-haired man with jade green eyes and a serious expression on his weathered face.

"Put the nose down a bit, Agent Black, we're going to hit the sun if you go up any further," he growled to the rookie agent.

"If you're so picky, why don't you fly the thing yourself?" Kyle hissed, his hands tightening grip on the joystick as he followed the senior agent's flying advice reluctantly. Agent Blayner didn't respond to Kyle's angry question. "Fine, don't talk to me, I don't care."

He turned to Agent Cautz who was bouncing up and down eagerly, the thought of a promotion in his mind. "What are you so happy about?"

"Everything! I'm probably going to get promoted! Imagine it – _Senior _Agent Jack Cautz!"

Kyle tired to look happy about his partner getting a promotion, but inside he was worried. Would he get a promotion? Would everyone finally stop calling him 'Kyle the Rookie'? He was jolted back to reality as Mystique shouted at him to pay attention to flying. He pulled them back up to safety, noticing the island they were targeting out of the corner of his eye. "Where are we going to land on that thing?"

Agent Blayner got up out of his seat and pointed to a small bald patch of land down on the island. "There, do you need any help with your landing?"

"Not from you."

Kyle eased the plane down towards the island, heading towards the barren part of the islands Blayner had pointed out. As they came to a smooth halt, Mystique, Senior Agent Blayner, and Agent Cautz jumped out of the plane. Kyle jumped up to follow them, but Cautz shook his head. "You're going to have to stay here and make sure no one takes our plane," he said.

"What?!" Kyle exclaimed. "Not only is that unfair but – how am I supposed to fend off people who want to take our plane?"

"You'll figure something out," Cautz replied, following Blayner and Mystique who had already started running off into the jungle.

Agent Kyle Black was furious. He walked back to the cockpit and sat down angrily, folding his arms over his chest. They had left him behind, not because he was supposed to 'guard the plane', but because he was an inexperienced rookie. How was he supposed to learn anything when they didn't take him with them?

"I'm going to find that Syndrome and kill him myself," he growled, starting the plane back up again. He didn't even think twice about leaving the three on Avalon Island, he'd just come back and pick them up _after _he finished the job. He wouldn't be just a rookie anymore, he'd be a _hero_.

--

Top Agent Clyde Brisk was clutching his stomach area, feeling more and more nauseous by the second. He finally mustered up the courage to look out the window. They were quickly approaching Volcán Island, the land looking particularly inviting to the airsick NSA agent.

"We've got a bogey approaching from behind," the pilot said suddenly.

".. A what?" Brisk asked. Wasn't a bogey – no, the pilot couldn't have been referring to something like that.

"An unidentified air contact is showing up on my radars," she sighed. "I think it's one of ours. But I thought we were the only ones going to this island... Was there a change of plan?"

"No, maybe they're just off course," one of the other passengers piped up. "As far as I know we're the only ones assigned to this island, isn't that right, chief?"

"Um, yes," Brisk choked out, suddenly putting his hand over his mouth to try and keep himself from vomiting.

Truth be told, it was Kyle who was flying the plane behind them. He was determined to get to Volcán Island before the others did. It was, according to the documents he had snuck a look at, the most likely island that Syndrome could be hiding out on. He passed them and approached the brightly lit landing strip on the island, it would have been tough to land at dusk like this without the lighting. So far, he had avoided being shot down, which either met the people on the island were friendly or just not paying attention. He turned off his engines to make sure his approach was stealthy and quiet. He landed on the strip, leaving the agents in the plane circling above confused.

He leaped out and rushed into the hangar, looking back and forth for a way to get into the main building, there were doors all over the place, but none of them were unlocked. Finally he came across a door that was open, just a crack. He reached his hand in and pushed the panels apart and squeezed himself through. He found himself in a large hallway, the ceilings high and the walls spread far apart. Kyle nervously pulled out his pistol, wincing each time his footsteps created an echoing reverberation.

"Ugh," he grunted, cringing as his simple expression of frustration also made a loud echo. He now wished he hadn't skipped optional stealth training course that was offered at the NSA to all rookies.

He suddenly felt a hand on his back, and turned his head to see a man grinning widely. Kyle was knocked back onto the solid concrete ground as the man delivered a blow to his face. Blood was leaking out of a cut on his lip, and from his gums due to the fact that a few of his teeth had been knocked out from the force of the punch. He also felt a trickle coming out of his nose, and dripping over his lips. He slowly stood himself up, and launched himself at whomever had hit him.

Kyle pulled back his arm to strike the man, but the guy grabbed his wrist and twisted it back until there was a resounding crack. "Gah!" exclaimed the rookie agent, tears of pain welling up in his eyes. The man let go, and Kyle examined his broken wrist for a brief moment, before receiving a kick to the stomach that sent him flying.

"Syndrome, what are you doing? Who is this person?" came a female voice with a hint on an exotic, perhaps Spanish or Cuban, accent to it.

"No idea, but judging from that badge on his coat, he's from the government," he replied simply, picking Kyle up by the collar of his shirt, intent on ending the life of the NSA agent.

"S-s-s-syndrome?" Kyle stuttered, head lolling as he was lifted up slightly off the ground.

"Well, it's not 'Sussusudio'," Syndrome replied jokingly, before punching the rookie's face a few more times and throwing him into the wall. "I see you're absolutely no good at fighting."

"Maybe we should take him to Xerek first?" the lady suggested, stepping out of the shadows and letting the dim light illuminate her thin figure.

"Eh, Xerek's not the boss of me. Besides, this guy will probably die either way, and I may as well finish him off right here and now – gack!"

Whilst Syndrome was distracted, Kyle had managed to retrieve his gun and shoot him. Syndrome fell onto the floor, blood leaking into a puddle. He put one hand over his wound and used the built in feature in his utility gauntlet to fire lasers at Kyle with the other. Kyle cried out as the lasers burned holes in his body. He flopped back over onto the floor, struggling to crawl away, but his hands continually slipped on his own blood. Finally, he just gave up, to exhausted to even move, his breathing growing shallow.

"They'll get you," he rasped to Syndrome. "Bet on it..." After that, he didn't make another sound, nor did he move.

Mirage walked over to the agent and grabbed his wrist to check his pulse. It was obvious he was dead. She rolled the agent over onto his back and sighed, "I'll bet he hasn't come alone." She searched through his pockets for anything that could help them identify who the man was.

"Help me up," Syndrome choked, "get me to the doc..."

His voice trailed off as he heard sounds of walking up to him from behind.

"So I see we've finally caught up with you – Syndrome."

**--**

Violet was curled up on the cot in the corner of the room, her brother Dash sitting next to her and trying to comfort her. She had come all the way to Volcán Island for nothing, Marty Gilligan had died for nothing, she had admitted her feelings to Buddy – for nothing. She felt like the biggest failure in the entire world at that moment.

"Look on the bright side, Vi!" Dash said, twiddling his fingers. "I finally found the toilet! Now we won't have to go without a bathroom, isn't that great?"

She didn't even look up. It was obvious that the discovery of a latrine wasn't going to brighten her day. Dash sighed with defeat, his attempt to start a conversation and cheer up his big sister obviously wasn't working. He suddenly looked up when he heard the sound of a gunshot, followed by what seemed to be the sound of lasers. _I wish I knew what was going on._

Minutes later, the door to the holding cell suddenly opened, Bomb Jour and Baron Von Ruthless Jr. were standing there, obviously unnerved, frightened expressions on their faces. "Come with us if you want to live!" she said, grabbing Violet by the arm as Ruthless Jr. grabbed Dash.

"What's going on?" the siblings asked.

"Ve're under attack, and if you don't fight, you vill die too!" Ruthless Jr. said anxiously, tugging Dash along roughly.

"Watch it, that's the only right arm I've got!" the speedy Super exclaimed. When they arrived at the hallway, a fight had already broken out. Mirage was shooting her pistol at the agents while Syndrome was doing his best to fight, but they were both clearly losing. Violet wondered for a second why he wasn't using his zero-point energy, then she saw that one of his gauntlets was lying in two pieces on the floor, and the other one on his right wrist was partially smashed. He was weakly fighting Agent Brisk, who kicked him in the chest and knocked him onto the ground. Syndrome didn't move after that, and Violet was immediately worried, despite the fact that she was angry with him.

_These are NSA agents, _she thought. _If I fight them, I could get fired or worse..._

Mirage was thrown headfirst into the concrete by one of the superheroes the agents had brought with them. Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw Bomb Jour jump on Clyde Brisk and hit him as hard as she could while Ruthless Jr. was using his good arm to punch the Super who had knocked-out Mirage.

"Are we going to help?" Dash asked.

Violet hesitated, looking at the agents, then at the losing supervillains. "I don't know," she replied.

"Don't they have henchmen?" her brother asked. "I mean, most villains do.."

"They're on holiday," came a voice. They both had to look down to see Earthworm standing there, clutching his hand in his hands nervously, clenching at it until his knuckles turned white.

"On holiday? That's stupid," Dash snorted. "So, Vi, make up your mind right now, are we going to help them?"

".. No. We're not."


	17. Yesterday, When I Was Mad

**17**

"He took the plane. He took the _freaking_ plane!"

Agent Cautz stomped his foot against the ground and swore. Mystique and Agent Blayner just shook their heads. It had turned out no one was even inhabiting Avalon Island, let alone doing anything illegal on it. They'd come across a few monkeys and other assorted tropical animals, but nothing particularly important.

"Maybe it serves us right," Agent Blayner said, sighing. "We did leave him with the plane alone, and most likely hurt his feelings."

"Don't worry," Mystique said. "I'll use my powers to transport us to the next island on the list – Volcán Island."

"I feel like I'm on a scavenger hunt, only we're just looking for one thing," Agent Cautz muttered. "I swear, when I find Syndrome, I'm going to strangle him with my bare hands. He's caused us way too much trouble!"

Mystique spread her arms out and formed a circle of blue light around the three of them. Before they knew it, they were on Volcán Island, and from what they could hear, a fight had already broken out. They looked puzzled for a moment, but were soon able to locate where the noise was coming from. The trio rushed through the door and into the hallway, where they were greeted by Ruthless Jr. as he was tossed directly on top of them.

"Forget the other villains, just get Syndrome!" Brisk was crying out, jabbing his elbow into Bomb Jour's abdomen.

"Well, we missed a lot," Agent Cautz said, looking around the room. "I think our side is winning though." All of the sudden he was hit by a wall of purple, and fell onto the ground, the wind knocked out of him. "Ooof!"

"Dash, quick! There are more of them!" Violet was yelling, forming another forcefield in her hands and jumping at Mystique, teeth bared. Mystique couldn't get out of the way in time, and she fell on top of Agent Cautz, who was growling and squirming beneath her. Dash rushed past Agent Blayner several times, hitting him each time he ran past. Clyde Brisk was nearly foaming at the mouth as he ran past an attacking Earthworm towards Syndrome, pulling his pistol out of his jacket.

"You going to shoot me?" Syndrome slurred, trying to push himself up off the ground, but failing miserably.

"You bet I am!" Agent Brisk replied, pointing his gun at the weak supervillain, trigger finger tightening as he aimed. He fired, but his shot was blocked by one of Violet's forcefields.

"You traitor!" he yelled at her, shooting a couple more times in vain.

"I'm sorry, Agent Brisk, I just can't let you shoot him!" she replied smugly, shrugging her shoulders slightly and holding her forcefield steady as he shot again. Dash rushed up to his sister, a worried look on his face.

"Violet, I think we should go now! We're already in trouble with the NSA, and I can't hold these agents off without having to kill them! I don't want to add murder to our current list of crimes!" he whined.

"Grab Syndrome, we'll take one of their planes!" Violet said, hoping she could remember how to fly a jet. Her mother had taught her a couple things about it, but she'd never had any formal training.

Dash's jaw dropped. "Grab Syndrome?! Come on, that guy must weigh at least one-hundred-and-sixty pounds! I'm not dad, you know!"

"That's ridiculous, you can lift him, you're not _that _weak! Just hurry, we've got to get out of here!" Violet replied.

"Fine!"

Dash dodged bullets as he rushed to grab Syndrome, just as Violet let her forcefield down. He than ran fast, but noticeably slower than his normal speed, towards the door, his sister following close behind, making sure none of them got shot. They headed towards the plane Kyle had flown to the island, and jumped inside, quickly.

"Gah, look at these controls! I've never seen anything like this, it seems to be some sort of advanced fighter jet or something!" Violet growled, ready to tear her hair out.

"Um – press the big red button!" Dash suggested.

Violet pressed it, and out of the plane shot several missiles, which zoomed into Xerek's lair and blew the entire place to bits. "Uh-oh," she whispered as the dust settled around them.

"Okay, that was a very _bad _idea. Oh, we're so going to be in trouble for this. Um – uh – press that one right there, it says 'start', so obviously it'll start the plane."

Violet growled. "Or it'll start a nuclear war... Fine, let's just hope for the best!"

To her surprise and relief, pressing the start button did indeed start the plane, and not accidentally start a war between some random country and the USA, as she had previously thought. She looked around and hit the autopilot button, the coordinates were already set to someplace in North America.

"Wow, I didn't know they had technology this advanced yet."

"They probably stole it from me," Syndrome piped up weakly, trying to sit himself up. "Wait a second, I thought you weren't going to help me... Oh my gosh, that's not blood leaking from me, is it?"

Dash leaned over Syndrome and looked at his severe wounds. "Um, duh, what else would it be? Chocolate? But anyway, yeah, at first, we were just gonna let you die, but Violet changed her mind. You have her to thank for saving your butt back there. Of course, I helped, keep that in mind just in case you decide to give us cash rewards."

Syndrome slumped over again with an odd expression on his face. Dash raised an eyebrow and checked the villain's wounds again. He definitely wasn't doing well.

"Thank you, butt-saver," slurred Syndrome, deliriously. "I think I might need new potted plants for my – er – y'know, the whoosawhatsit, what do _you_ think?"

Dash raised an eyebrow. "Dude, you're seriously out of it right now. Violet, I think we need to get this guy to a doctor – pronto, he's babbling nonsense. I think he might be dying or something."

"Don't distract me!" she yelled. "I'm trying to see if I can change the coordinates on this thing. Apparently I need some sort of a password."

Syndrome snorted and mumbled to Dash. "Do ya think I'm sexy?"

Dash blinked.

"No, personally, I think you're a loony," he replied, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Violet, he's really, really stupid right now. They must have hit him hard!"

"They did, Dash. We both saw it. By the way, you're going to have to try and slow down the bleeding from that gun wound he's got, or he might not even make it back to the United States."

She entered a number of passwords into the plane before one finally came up as correct. The password was apparently 'A113'. She didn't know exactly what it stood for, or if it stood for anything at all, but she was just glad she was now able to set them all on a different course. Syndrome continued to babble nonsensically before falling backwards, presumably into an unconscious state.

Dash looked at his sister. "Where are we going to go?" he asked, twiddling his fingers. "I mean, we're probably on the top of the FBI's wanted list by now."

"I doubt that," Violet murmured. "But we probably will be eventually. I've programmed this thing to fly us to Edna's manor, or at least the field near it. She would never turn us in, and she knows a lot of people. I'm sure she can direct us to a doctor who wouldn't tell anyone about us or our situation."

"As much as I hate to admit it, I have so say I'm actually _worried _about that Syndrome guy," Dash said tensely, shifting around in the copilot seat. "He's just – laying there, he's not even talking about idiotic and nonsensical things anymore."

Violet turned around to confirm Dash's statement with her own eyes. She then looked at her brother and let out a sigh. "He's tough," she said. "He'll pull through this. If he could survive what he's survived so far, he can survive this."

"I sure hope you're right about that. I mean, he's pretty cool, I guess."

Violet smiled at Dash and sat back in her seat. It would be a long ride back to America, and none of them knew what was in store for them.

--

"Darling, darling, no! I've told you time and again, there isn't such a color! Well – no – well, then there's not such a color in my fabrics. Well, if that's what you think, goodbye!"

Edna hung up the phone forcefully. Once again a customer had assumed that they knew better than her. She never liked that, nor did she appreciate it. She found it rather patronizing, whether it was intended to be by said customer or not. She walked into her kitchen and pushed her stool up to the counter so that she could grab a coffee cup from above in the cabinets. She then climbed down and placed the cup under what looked to be a simple spout coming out of the kitchen island. She stared out the window at the sky and smiled, it was bright and it cheered her up.

Edna took a sip of the coffee that had dispensed itself into her cup and walked down the hallway. She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors and grimaced. Her hair was graying terribly, which reminded her that she had to color it later on that day. Without warning, there was a sound that resembled a sonic boom over head. Edna feared there was a natural disaster or something of the like and began to run around gathering her priceless antiques.

It stopped suddenly and she looked around. "Hmm, maybe it is Boombastic coming for a visit," she pondered. "Again."

She heard the doorbell ring and went to answer it. She walks through halls lined with rows of super suits and collectibles from foreign countries she had visited. Edna was a fan of the exotic, and always had been. She cleared her throat and opened the door. There stood Violet and Dash, holding a severely injured man.

"Oh, dear," Edna gasped.

"Edna, you have to let us in!" pleaded Violet. "We're possibly being chased by the government, and my friend here is injured badly."

"Of course, darling!" the short woman exclaimed. "Come in, come in, I'll see what I can do!"

They hurried inside and Edna motioned for them to follow her. They walked down several sets of stairs until they came to a door. They watched as Edna typed in passwords, scanned her handprint and eyes, and had the security system analyze her voice.

"Edna Mode, and three guests," she said.

The doors opened and Dash and Violet walked inside.

"Can we put this guy down somewhere?" Dash grunted. "He's really heavy."

"That or you're really weak," snorted Violet.

"Ah-ah, don't start a sibling fight in Edna Mode's house," Edna chided. "Just set him down over there. We will soon have him fixed good as new, darlings. By the way, who is he?"

Violet and Dash exchanged glances. "Um. He's just a friend."

"Yes, darling, but what's his name?"

"Uh – er – Phil Collins," Dash coughed.

Edna raised an eyebrow. "Phil Collins, eh?"

"Yes," Violet confirmed.

"He doesn't look like a Phil Collins, but whatever," Edna shrugged. "So, you're being chased by the government? Care to tell me why?"

Dash looked around. "Er, it's a really, really long story and we don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, suit yourselves," Edna sniffed. "Here, darlings, move um – Phil – to this chamber over here. After a few days spent hooked up in there, he'll be good as new."

Violet breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, E," she murmured. "You don't know how much this means to us. We'll make it up to you in any way we can."

Edna laughed, "Ah, no need, darling, you've helped me out of messes before. I'm only returning the favor!"

Dash dragged Syndrome over towards the healing chamber. Edna hooked him up to all sorts of tubes and wires. Violet held her breath, hoping silently that this would work. She trusted Edna, but there was always a chance that something could go horribly wrong. She hated seeing Syndrome hurt. She knew that deep down inside, he had romantic feelings for her, too. He just didn't seem to be able to express those feelings properly. She'd just have to help him out with that.

Violet hadn't wanted to lie about Syndrome's identity to Edna, but she didn't want the designer to send them away just because he was a supervillain. Eventually she'd have to come out and tell the whole story, but not until Syndrome was completely healed.

"Do you mind if we stay here for a while, E?" Violet twiddled her fingers.

Edna smiled. "Of course not!"

"But we are probably wanted by now – you could get in trouble for sheltering us like this," Dash pointed out. "I mean, it's not that I don't want you to keep us here, I'm just warning you."

"Don't you worry at all! We'll just cross that bridge when we come to it! Now, would either of you like some tea?"

--

Clyde Brisk pushed himself out of the rubble and wreckage. He, as well as Agent Cautz and Mystique, were miraculously alive, though rather injured. Agent Blayner, however, was no where to be seen. There was much grunting and groaning as they crawled out. Much to their delight, they still had one plane waiting for them out there. They slunk towards it, none of them saying a word to each other. Occasionally, they would look at one another and make a guttural noise, but that was really the extent of conversation at the moment.

When they were all seated in the plane, each of them examining themselves and checking to see what needed a cast and what didn't, Clyde Brisk turned to them, a cold look in his eyes. "When we get back to the NSA," he growled, "have the authorities put out a warrant for the arrest of Dashiell and Violet Parr. They're traitors, and they're helping Syndrome – er – Buddy – Terry? I don't quite know what to call him anymore."

"Neither do we," grunted Agent Cautz. "Oh, gee, boss, I – ow... My arm is killing me, I think it's broken."

"Of course it's broken," snapped Mystique. "Look at it, it's bent in an impossible position."

"Okay, I don't think, I _know _it's broken." Agent Cautz examined his arm again and let out a whimper.

Agent Brisk snorted. "Yes, you _don't _think."

"Gee, you both seem like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Look, I know they all got away, but we'll find them, right? In fact, you know what... I have someone I could talk to about this. He's a former fashion model and –"

Clyde Brisk interrupted. "A former fashion model? This can't be who I think it is..."

"Yup, Mitchell Snyder, the male model gone rogue. He had connections with Syndrome, and connections with the super-suit designer Edna Mode. He's also a super himself, having the ability to make anyone fall in – er – fall obsessively in love with him," Agent Cautz informed them. "He's in prison right now; we could interrogate him, and find out if he knows any secret lairs Syndrome could currently be using to hide out in."

"And if he doesn't know anything?" Brisk asked.

"Well, if he doesn't know anything about secret lairs or islands or whatever, we could still get him to come with us on our hunt. If he can make anyone fall in love with him, imagine how we could use that to our advantage." Agent Cautz took a moment to glance at his broken arm again, wincing. "Anyways, as I was saying, if there's someone we want to interrogate who's particularly stubborn, we just get him to do the job for us. Love is a powerful thing, you know."

"There are many, many supers we could bring into this, why particularly Snyder?" Mystique questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Why _not_?" Agent Cautz grinned.

Clyde Brisk snorted, and leaned towards Mystique. "He's probably got a man-crush on him or something," he whispered.

Mystique giggled.

Agent Cautz frowned and glared at them both. "What, what is it? What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Cautz, nothing," replied Brisk.

And they took off towards the mainland.

* * *

**A/N - **_I apologize greatly for this taking so long, and for it being a crummy chapter to boot. I had to complete my Warriors fanfic, and work on my other Synlet fanfic. Again, I apologize. I'll try to get back on board and finish this._


	18. You Must Be Out Of Your Mind

**18**

In a dingy prison cell sat someone who didn't seem to fit in. He was dashingly handsome, his hair neatly gelled, and there was a smug little grin on his perfectly symmetrical face. This was Mitchell Snyder: former fashion model, and designer of super-suits for super-bad guys. Down the corridors walked Agent Cautz, one hand on his still-broken arm (now in a cast) as he cautiously approached, with a prison guard by his side. She patted him on the back before unlocking the doors.

"Whatever you do, don't let him touch you," she warned him. "He's got this... habit."

Cautz raised an eyebrow. "Habit?"

"A habit of making people fall in love."

"That's not a habit, that's a superpower, and as a government licensed super-prison-guard, you should know better than to let him run around with the ability to use his powers," chided Agent Cautz. He frowned at the utter lack of security. He knew that Snyder wasn't the strongest, but his powers of manipulation via pheromones were notorious.

She snorted. "Relax, he's harmless."

"One would think maybe he's touched you a few times," Cautz mumbled to himself. He followed directly with, "That didn't sound right."

As the cell door opened, he was practically shoved in by the prison guard, who locked the door behind him. Mitchell Snyder was still sitting there, grinning like some kind of a maniac. He was a very attractive human being. His eyes were a peculiar shade of lavender, like Liz Taylor's eyes. His hair was very deep auburn, but it didn't seem to be naturally that way. He probably had very well sculpted muscles, and by this point in time Agent Cautz had become a little carried away with observing the man.

"What brings you here, government boy?" asked Snyder, his Californian accent slipping through unjaded.

Agent Cautz cleared his throat, trying to keep a safe distance from the supervillain supermodel. "I'm calling a favor."

"I don't owe anyone any favors," spat the model. "You go postal just once, and everyone's riding your tail like a lion on a waterbuffalo."

Cautz frowned and said, "I'm not sure what any of that means. However, I can assure you, that if you have a debt to society, you sure as hell have a debt to the United States government."

"Try to make me help you. I dare you." There was a glint of superiority in Snyder's eyes.

The NSA agent let out a sigh. "Listen, all we want you to do is be our interrogator," he said, trying to reason. "It's a simple task. You use your magical love powers on whomever we want to get information out of, and they'll spill their guts on anything we need."

"Gag me with a spoon. I don't want to work with you government jerks," was the reply. "There's totally nothing in this for me, and I'm already hella busy with being a prison inmate."

Agent Cautz could see that Mitchell Snyder was reaching towards him, undoubtedly trying to use his powers. He edged away just a little bit. "Who says there's nothing in it for you? I could see that your sentence is greatly reduced. I could even see that you get probation!"

"That's better," Snyder said with a saccharine smile. "I like that."

"So is it a deal?"

"It's totally a deal."

-x-

Syndrome awoke to being hooked up to tubes and wires. It was like something out of Star Trek, and he blinked confusedly. He didn't know where he was, and he could barely remember what had happened. His memory was blacking in and out, and he was beginning to flashback to various moments in his life, some with very little relevance. He knew that there was something up with him, either with his brain or with his body, maybe both. It wasn't just the injuries he'd sustained in battle.

One particular memory stood out:

_"You have to save him, it's orders," someone was saying, in an eerily familiar voice__. "He's our super weapon. The best military chance we have at winning every war. You fail at saving him, we lose a valuable asset of the United States government. I don't think you want to be responsible for that loss."_

_A pause... "He's almost being saving. I can do it, but it's going to be difficult. I can't say it'll last long... a few years... after that..."_

_Loud whirring noises._

_"... and there's always the chance he might remember the secret..."_

_Garbled speech._

_"... with an injury to the head there's no telling..." _

_More whirring noises._

_"... you'll just find him dead one day..."_

_"It's good enough."_

His eyes widened.

With shaky hands, he unhooked himself from the tubes and the wires. He caught his breath, and stared at his skin. It wasn't right, none of it was. There were twisting, winding surgical scars. Stumbling, he moved forward through the unknown laboratory. He couldn't place where he was, and piece by piece his memory was starting to go. He couldn't even remember his own name anymore. He caught a look of himself in the shiny metal of a gurney. One of his eyes was the brightest shade of glowing, robotic red.

Realization dawned on him. This was a temporary fix, that was clear, and his time was running out. The cybernetics, the surgery, and everything they'd done to him wasn't meant to last. They just wanted to keep him in their sights long enough to force him into making weapons before his systems failed. He'd already known why they were keeping him around, but he hadn't remembered that he had so little time left. They were heartless enough to just want to make sure he was around until he could guarantee their place as the world's most powerful country.

He didn't know whether to despair, or be enraged.

When a sudden noise alerted his attention, he turned his head to the door. A short woman walked through, her face sincere and almost cold.

"You're awake, Syndrome," she said, her voice heavily accented. "Or should I say, Phil Collins?"

That was a name that Syndrome didn't remember having.

"What's going on?" he asked, his throat hoarse and his voice rasping.

Edna narrowed her eyes. "If you're wondering, I did my best. I'm afraid you're just beyond all hope of repair. Should you tell Violet? She worries about you."

"Beyond all hope? Grim prognosis, doctor. You're Edna Mode, right? You've got to have connections to someone who will be able to help me," he growled. With a threatening glare he walked slowly in her direction.

"You don't scare me, darling," she said simply. "There's no fixing you now. Nothing in your body is salvageable, and someone's already ruined everything with poor implants and sub-par mind tampering." Edna waved her hand. "But of course, you know that by now don't you?"

It was that moment that Syndrome realized the tears that were beginning to streak down his face. He thought he'd cheated death, but now it seemed like it was just catching up with him. He couldn't even begin to form the words. He didn't want to die. Fear was becoming overwhelming. "I don't have long, do I?" he choked.

"No, I'm sorry," came Edna Mode's reply. "Maybe barely a few more weeks. I can't say you don't deserve it. I know what you've done, and I have no sympathy for you. I only have sympathy for Violet. You've taken her heart."

Syndrome was having a hard time processing what was going on. Pain hit his head in a wave, and he began to remember less. "I don't know what I've done, I don't remember anything," he breathed. "I just remember... I just remember..."

He winced.

"No, I can't remember anything. You have to... you can't not help me... I just..." Syndrome pressed his palm to his forehead. "There has to be something I can do."

"There isn't," Edna said. She turned on her heel and exited the laboratory.

There was little hope in Syndrome's mind, but at least he knew that now the government wouldn't be able to use him to build anything for them. It was his final screw you to them, after all the misery they'd put him through.

... Though, he was beginning to think, maybe he had deserved it.

-x-

Violet sat quietly on the edge of her bed in the guest bedroom she had been given by Edna. She wasn't quite sure that the super-designer had believed her story. She probably knew exactly who 'Phil Collins' was, and she'd even hinted at it a few times. Swallowing, Violet was trying to figure out the implications of this. Surely Edna wouldn't give them up. She would be in just as much trouble as Syndrome, with the NSA, and so would Dash.

She swallowed, looking out the window at the dark night sky.

She didn't want to go to prison, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd been foolish by giving up so much just to help someone who had once tried to kill her family. Maybe he had just been using her this entire time to get what he wanted. Why had she been fooled by his eccentric charms? He wasn't the man for her, she knew, but she couldn't help but feel some kind of strange infatuation with him.

He probably didn't return the sentiment, and at this moment he was unconscious in Edna Mode's laboratory, being healed of his wounds... or so she figured.

That's when she heard the knock on the door.

She opened it, and was surprised to see Syndrome standing there. She barely made a reaction, for her morose state had dampened her emotions, but she invited him in nonetheless. The grim look on his face suggested there was nothing but bad news to be heard, and she braced herself for it.

"Violet, I'm dying," were his first words to her.

With a dry mouth, she shook her head. "You can't be," she replied. "Edna fixed you up... you look..." She realized, even through the darkness, that he didn't look well. She could just barely see his surgical scars, and the fact that one of his eyes was robotically replaced and clearly malfunctioning. There was definitely something wrong with him. It was something that Edna hadn't been able to fix.

"Don't disbelieve me," Syndrome said, his voice unwavering in seriousness. He wasn't usually like this, with his dark humor usually cutting into situations with a smart remark or deadpan observation. "I'm going to die, in a matter of weeks, and there's nothing anyone can do about it. There's nothing left of me to save, now. You should cut out while you can. I'm leaving tonight. I'm going back to Nomanisan."

She shook her head. "You can't..."

"I'm not worth it, Violet. You still have a chance to make amends with the NSA. Do it before you get too involved with me. I didn't want... this... I didn't want any of this. I'm not a good man, Violet, I'm not. I won't change. I won't have the chance to... I'm not even sure that I want to. I'm going back to Nomanisan, because the last thing I want to see before I go to Hell is that tropical sunrise over the horizon, understand?" He flinched as he was suddenly struck with pain, immediately after finishing speaking.

Sobbing, she shook her head even more violently now, taking him by the hand. She could feel him trembling. "I want to come with you. I just want to be there... until it happens. You don't understand how I feel for you."

He leaned into her, pulling her close, and kissed her softly.

"We're not meant to be together, Violet," he whispered.

Tears were running down her face.

"Forget about me."

"No, I'm coming with you," she insisted.

Wearily giving in, he looked down. "Alright, I can't fight you. I don't have the strength to. You can come with me if you want to, but don't expect anything out of it. If the government puts you in prison for this, it's not my fault, it's yours."

"I understand that." She took him by the hand. "Let's get out of here. The jet's just outside."

Syndrome nodded.

"We'd better hurry, or we'll be late for my funeral."

So they took off together into the night.

-x-

_This is a terrible story and I am sad._

_But I'm still going to finish it anyway._

_Also, site, why you delete my line breaks? Why? -rage-_


End file.
